The Time Traveler's Lover
by Soulan
Summary: Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger Jack travels back and forth in time throughout his life and encounters both Ennis and himself — visits that change everything and almost nothing.
1. Prologue Ennis

_**PROLOGUE : ENNIS**_

When he was six years old he found a naked man in the hayloft. He'd been hiding from KE in a horse stall late one morning when he heard a noise above him. Hoping it was Ace, the ranch hand who was nice to him and sometimes slept up there when it was hot, he stepped to the ladder and climbed the rungs. The bare feet, calves and thighs that came into view as he inched higher didn't belong to Ace, but a grownup like him sprawled awkwardly on his back in the hay. The man smiled at him and said he looked like the sun. He needed clothes, so Ennis clambered back down the ladder and went to the nail where Ace hung his clean shirts. He climbed back up, stepped onto the planks and handed one to the man, then lowered himself into the hay near him, resting his chin on one bent knee. He studied the man's torso frankly as he shrugged on the shirt. His daddy said a man's body was a machine for working; he had never seen a machine so relaxed in the middle of the day. When the man reached out and touched Ennis' knee where the skin showed though a rip in his jeans, a shiver ran through him. At the same moment he heard his mother ring the bell for lunch.

After the meal, he ran back to the barn with half his sandwich in his pocket but the hayloft was empty, except for the blue shirt splayed out in the hay.

For weeks afterwards, he checked the hayloft daily but never saw the man again. Eventually he stopped thinking about the stranger, and then forgot him, but took to watching Ace unsaddle and groom the horse he'd been riding in the stable in the evening. Unlike other hands, Ace always changed his shirt after he finished working. Ennis would fetch one from the nail and hand it to him. It became a ritual that irritated his father, who soon found other chores for him to do at that hour. At the end of the next summer, his father told Ace he had no more work for him, that he should ask for a job with the two old men on the neighboring ranch.

A year later, his father brought him and KE to see one of the old men sprawled dead in the ditch, black nothingness between his bare legs, his skin and shirt shredded. At the table that evening, as his mother spooned stew onto their plates, understanding dawned in him: women in the house made you safe, the more the better. Ace had been sent away to live with men who had no woman to protect them.

After supper, he threw up behind the barn. At the peak of his anguish, he had a terrifying vision of the naked man he'd seen in the hayloft when he was little, the man who had smiled and been kind.


	2. Chapter 1

**Jack's First Year – Ma Twist's POV**

Her son was six weeks old the first time he vanished. He her left nipple was suddenly cool in the night air, her right hand cupping an empty, still-pinned diaper. She prayed as usual, without faith, slumped in the rocking chair, eyes fixed on the moon. But unlike the other babies, he was warm when she felt his weight in her arms again near dawn. He disappeared like that several more times that first year, each time returning smelling faintly of whiskey and cigarettes. This child had found a guardian somewhere, and as long as he was a faithful one she could forgive him those vices.

**Jack's First Year – Ennis' POV**

_**March 1984**_

He'd been doing well enough until Junior came to tell him she was getting married. Cruising through the days of work and sleep and numbness. Wearing the same clothes for several days in a row to spare himself the daily shock of the closet door. Now he had to face the truth that one of his reasons for having kept Jack away was flying off. _Ever heard of child support, Jack?_ Like he thought that could be a permanent excuse.

That night he pulled the whiskey bottle from the cabinet. Halfway through it, he opened the closet and took the shirts from the hanger for the first time since… Splayed out in the recliner with them draped on his chest, taking steady swigs. Lift, swallow, lift, swallow. Remembered Junior so tiny in his arms when the nurse handed her to him, his tears of gratitude that he had a daughter and not a son. More relief a year later when Jenny came along. Those first two years of their babyhood were the best of his marriage. He was a _father_, yeah. Remaking his lost family, no other males around to fuck things up.

Then Jack found him. Lift, swallow, lift, swallow, drop the empty bottle. A weight pressed on his chest, the familiar heaviness that was a prelude to tears. Raised his hands to touch the shirts, felt warm, smooth skin, palmfuls of tender flesh. Some nights they were all four in the bed, Alma nursing Jenny while he soothed Junior's sore gums, smell of milk and talcum powder, sounds of suckling, feel of fine hair and warmth rising from soft skin. He held his baby daughter close to him, smoothed his hands over her skin. Where's her diaper, her little shirt? Shifted her into the crook of his arm — what the hell?

_This ain't your baby girl. Frown down at this boy infant, pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, blue eyes tracking the beam of a passing truck's headlights as it arcs across the trailer wall. Tiny arms flailing, plump legs flexing as he turns his mouth toward your chest, lips working at your shirt, seeking the center of his world, face twisting getting ready to cry when he doesn't find it. Pull the shirts around to swaddle him, put your little finger to his lips and he latches on, sucking. _

At dawn he awoke with a pounding headache. Dream of a baby so real he could feel the shape of its buttocks in his hand and smell the milk on his shirt. Three more times this child came to him, always at night, when his hunger for love couldn't be satisfied by empty cloth. At each visitation the infant had grown a bit more, his dark hair thicker. Each time Ennis less drunk than before, holding this warm, vital bundle to his chest, humming as it sucked his finger.

On its final visit, the night before the wedding, the baby bit Ennis' thumb hard, pressing a tooth into his nail, worrying it. Looked into his eyes and smiled.

When he returned to the trailer the next evening after the reception, Ennis felt at peace. He took off his new suit, arranged it carefully on a hanger and returned it to the closet. Then he reached for the shirts still under the blankets, pulled them out and briefly pressed them to his face, smelling the milk. Folded them, placed them in a grocery bag. He knelt down and pushed it to the bottom of the closet, in the back next to the box of postcards. Someday, when it was time, Jack would come to him again.


	3. Chapter 2

_**July 4th, 1988**_

They were still picking their way between the other families sitting in the grass when the fireworks started going off. Even though the children seemed unfazed by the bangs and booms, Ennis stopped at the very next open space and they all settled onto the ground. After a minute a couple of punks waded through, laughing loudly, and chose a spot right behind them. When they didn't quiet down, Ennis jerked around to snarl at them but Junior laid her hand on his arm.

"It's OK, Daddy. They live on our street." She smiled over at them.

"Hey Alma. How's it goin?"

"Just fine, Jesse. This is my dad, Ennis."

Ennis touched his hat, nodded once and turned his attention back to the twins. If they wanted to dye their hair pitch black and outline their ears in metal studs, well, that was nobody's business but theirs. He studied the ground, tracing circles in the short grass, and thought back to Junior's first fireworks show in Riverton when she was the age of these little ones. He remembered how he'd lost his rag with those asshole bikers and spooked Alma, who hadn't understood he was doing it for her, for them. After the two men had crawled away he'd gone off to take a piss at the edge of the baseball diamond. Back then memories of Jack were tightly coiled, ready to spring out at any moment. Pissing against a tree had reminded him of roughhousing which had led to wrestling in the dirt, which had led, inevitably, to lovemaking. He'd always tried to stop those images from unspooling to the end, and had hated himself when he failed, because in those days he thought he'd never see Jack again. Now he just let them unfurl.

Ennis still needed to be alone when that happened though, and he felt that need coming on so he made an excuse to Junior and moved away from the crowd. Unlike her mother, his daughter didn't pout at being abandoned; she was used to his ways now. He paused under a tree near the chainlink fence and watched the flares shoot up and shower down red, white and blue sparks. Junior and Kurt had urged him to follow them to Jackson when they moved here the previous year. They could make him a little apartment over the garage. He'd be a comfort to Junior when Kurt was working away for weeks at a time. Rich people were buying spreads and didn't know what the hell they were doing – plenty of work for someone experienced. He'd said no, but felt bad about it because he didn't know how Junior managed with two babies. His real fear was that Jack wouldn't be able to find him if he left Riverton.

There, that did it. He bowed his head and let the memory spiral out... sound of a truck below his window, then bounding down the stairs, Jack in his arms... a whimper becoming a wail... He looked up and over to the source of the crying and saw a tiny child, barely a toddler, standing by the fence with the fingers of one hand hooked onto the links. Who the hell let their kid wander off like that, and without a stitch on?

He walked over to the boy and went down on one knee before him. "Where's yer mama?" he murmured as he shrugged off his jacket. He wrapped it around the child, who looked to be only slightly younger than Junior's sons, and lifted him into his arms. Ennis rose to his feet while pulling the jacket close around the boy, making sure he was well covered. When he looked down into the little face then, and saw the blue eyes gazing intently up at him, he went still. Those black, whiskey-soaked nights came back so vividly that he shuddered. Only one thing had saved him.

Ennis stroked the boy's dark hair and ran his thumb over his cheek as they stared at one another. When he traced his finger over his rosy curving lips, the child opened his mouth, bit Ennis' finger and laughed. Then he was gone, and Ennis was hugging his jacket to his chest.

The fireworks were exploding in a deafening volley of red flares when he finally made his way toward his daughter. He saw her craning her neck, searching for him. She smiled broadly when she spotted him approaching and a small bubble of contentment rose in his throat. She would be happy with his decision.


	4. Chapter 3

_**September 4, 2002**_

Ennis leaned on his daughter's arm as she helped him make his way the from clinic entrance to her car. He knew he wouldn't be going there again. Junior was somber but he was quiet only because he was he was thinking about the dream he'd had during the night, Jack sitting alone before a fire with a bottle of whiskey, wondering aloud where Ennis was. He tried to tell him he was right there next to him but his voice didn't reach Jack.

When Junior turned the key in the ignition music came out of the CD player. She moved to switch it off but he told her no, leave it. It was gentle, just a guitar and a man singing and he had a fine voice. The track ended and another started and neither of them spoke. He looked out his window and tried to pay attention to the words of the song because he didn't want to think about what Junior would say when they got home. He wanted to listen to that strong, clear voice now, because hers would be breaking soon.

The red traffic light was just a blur when they stopped before it two minutes later. Ennis was sure Jack was speaking to him. He closed his eyes to try and keep the tears from seeping out, but they came anyway when Junior reached for his hand. She held it until the light changed and the song ended. She switched the music off and they drove home in silence. He wished he could tell her he wasn't crying for the reason she thought.

That evening he lay on the couch with the Walkman while she rattled pans in the kitchen. She had handed him the CD when they got home at noon, and he'd wondered about that. They'd hardly spoken since. He'd gone to his room to rest but spent most of the afternoon busy with a pad of paper. Now he really was resting. Kurt came home and lit a fire while he chatted with Ennis as though everything was normal, for which Ennis was grateful. When the fireplace was ablaze he went into the kitchen to join his wife.

Ennis was ready for Jack when he appeared, but his heart sank when he saw how young he was, too young to read. One look at his little face, though, and Ennis forgot that. He'd been crying and there was an angry red patch on his upper arm. Ennis reached out and drew him toward the couch, whispering _ssshhh, it's alright._ He fished a tissue from his pocket and dabbed at Jack's tears, then put it to the boy's nose. "Blow," he said. After he'd stuffed the sodden tissue back in his pocket, he shifted onto his side and pushed back against the cushions to make room, lifting the blanket up. Jack sat on the edge of the couch and then stretched out on his back in the narrow space next to Ennis, who let the blanket drop and tucked it around him. The boy put his thumb in his mouth and gazed around the room.

Ennis whispered in his ear, "You're too big to suck your thumb." Jack smiled around his thumb but didn't move it.

Ennis took the Walkman earphones from around his own neck and fitted them over Jack's head and onto his ears. He looked at Ennis quizzically.

"Just some music. It'll come along too late for you to hear it. Don't think you'll understand it but mebbe one day you'll remember some little thing."

Ennis advanced to the track and let it play. Jack closed his eyes and sucked his thumb. Ennis felt the warmth of the fire on his face and of Jack's small body against his own. He laid his arm gently over him and watched him listening, or not, to the music.

Ennis dozed off, and awoke to find Junior bent over him, smiling. The earphones lay next to his head, emitting faint guitar chords. The spot on the cushion by his chest was still warm.

_I didn't know where to look for you last night  
I didn't know where to find you  
I didn't know how I could touch that light  
That's always gathering behind you  
I didn't know that I would find a way  
To find you in the morning  
But love can pull you out of yesterday  
As it takes you without warning_

I want to be a long time friend to you  
I want to be a long time known  
Not one of your memory's used-to-be's  
A summer's fading song

It's from me, it's to you for your eyes  
It's a weight, a wonder that is wise  
I am here, you are there  
Love is our cross to bear

I know I'll think of us upon that hill  
With the golden moon arising  
And the stars will fall around us still  
As the love is realizing

And so it is until we meet again  
And I throw my arms around you  
You can count the gray hairs in my head  
I'll still be thankful that I found you

It's from me, it's to you for your eyes  
It's a weight, a wonder that is wise  
I am here, you are there  
Love is our cross to bear

_Love is Our Cross to Bear_, words and music by John Gorka, 1987


	5. Chapter 4

_**July 4th, 1988**_

They were still picking their way between the other families sitting in the grass when the fireworks started going off. Even though the children seemed unfazed by the bangs and booms, Ennis stopped at the very next open space and they all settled onto the ground. After a minute a couple of punks waded through, laughing loudly, and chose a spot right behind them. When they didn't quiet down, Ennis jerked around to snarl at them but Junior laid her hand on his arm.

"It's OK, Daddy. They live on our street." She smiled over at them.

"Hey Alma. How's it goin?"

"Just fine, Jesse. This is my dad, Ennis."

Ennis touched his hat, nodded once and turned his attention back to the twins. If they wanted to dye their hair pitch black and outline their ears in metal studs, well, that was nobody's business but theirs. He studied the ground, tracing circles in the short grass, and thought back to Junior's first fireworks show in Riverton when she was the age of these little ones. He remembered how he'd lost his rag with those asshole bikers and spooked Alma, who hadn't understood he was doing it for her, for them. After the two men had crawled away he'd gone off to take a piss at the edge of the baseball diamond. Back then memories of Jack were tightly coiled, ready to spring out at any moment. Pissing against a tree had reminded him of roughhousing which had led to wrestling in the dirt, which had led, inevitably, to lovemaking. He'd always tried to stop those images from unspooling to the end, and had hated himself when he failed, because in those days he thought he'd never see Jack again. Now he just let them unfurl.

Ennis still needed to be alone when that happened though, and he felt that need coming on so he made an excuse to Junior and moved away from the crowd. Unlike her mother, his daughter didn't pout at being abandoned; she was used to his ways now. He paused under a tree near the chainlink fence and watched the flares shoot up and shower down red, white and blue sparks. Junior and Kurt had urged him to follow them to Jackson when they moved here the previous year. They could make him a little apartment over the garage. He'd be a comfort to Junior when Kurt was working away for weeks at a time. Rich people were buying spreads and didn't know what the hell they were doing – plenty of work for someone experienced. He'd said no, but felt bad about it because he didn't know how Junior managed with two babies. His real fear was that Jack wouldn't be able to find him if he left Riverton.

There, that did it. He bowed his head and let the memory spiral out... sound of a truck below his window, then bounding down the stairs, Jack in his arms... a whimper becoming a wail... He looked up and over to the source of the crying and saw a tiny child, barely a toddler, standing by the fence with the fingers of one hand hooked onto the links. Who the hell let their kid wander off like that, and without a stitch on?

He walked over to the boy and went down on one knee before him. "Where's yer mama?" he murmured as he shrugged off his jacket. He wrapped it around the child, who looked to be only slightly younger than Junior's sons, and lifted him into his arms. Ennis rose to his feet while pulling the jacket close around the boy, making sure he was well covered. When he looked down into the little face then, and saw the blue eyes gazing intently up at him, he went still. Those black, whiskey-soaked nights came back so vividly that he shuddered. Only one thing had saved him.

Ennis stroked the boy's dark hair and ran his thumb over his cheek as they stared at one another. When he traced his finger over his rosy curving lips, the child opened his mouth, bit Ennis' finger and laughed. Then he was gone, and Ennis was hugging his jacket to his chest.

The fireworks were exploding in a deafening volley of red flares when he finally made his way toward his daughter. He saw her craning her neck, searching for him. She smiled broadly when she spotted him approaching and a small bubble of contentment rose in his throat. She would be happy with his decision.


	6. Chapter 5

**Jack at 7**

_**January 5, 1951**_

"Just one more chapter and then I have to start supper."

"Alright Mama." Jack snuggled against his mother's side. They were sitting together on the couch in front of the fire, he wrapped in a blanket. Icy snow chittered against the windows with each gust of wind. He'd had a bad case of flu right after Christmas and was better now but tired enough for his mother to prevail against his father when he wanted Jack to help with the chores in this bad weather. During his illness she'd read to him from the books Uncle Harold had sent him as a Christmas present. They were about a pig detective named Freddy who lived on a farm full of talking animals in New York state. His father detested these "pansy" books, as he called them, but Jack loved them. They had finished _Freddy the Cowboy _and now she was reading from _Freddy Goes Camping_. Disguised as a man, Freddy was setting up a campsite with a real man by the edge of a lake in order to solve the mystery of a haunted hotel on the opposite side. They had just erected a tent shaped like a pyramid and arranged stones in a circle for the cooking fire which Freddy, a novice camper, was trying to light. Jack giggled at the image because even he knew how to lay a proper fire.

Just then one of the logs in the fireplace shifted and popped, sending sparks flying up the chimney. Jack was startled to see them change colors and shower back down.

July 4th, 2002  
The popping sounds continued and now all he could see was multi-colored sparks against a night sky. The fire had vanished. He was still leaning against his mother, but his blanket was gone. In fact, his mother seemed to have the blanket around herself now. His pajamas had disappeared as well, though he wasn't cold because the air was very warm. They were no longer on a soft couch indoors but sitting on a kind of long wooden, swaying seat on a porch. He sat up straight and looked up at his mother, then frowned when he saw an old man staring down at him from under the brim of his hat. A slow smile spread across the man's face. He lifted half the blanket from himself and draped it over Jack's body.

"Bout time you showed up. Been sittin here every July fourth waitin fer you t'watch the fireworks with me," he said mildly in a slightly hoarse voice. "Shoulda thoughta tryin this from the start." He reached up and touched a big black and white feather stuck in his hat band.

"Do you have the flu?" Jack asked, wondering at the blanket in summer. Even in the dim light he could tell the man's skin had a strange pallor.

"Nah," the man answered, looking away from him and toward the sparks shooting into the sky above the treetops.

"Those are fireworks? I seen pictures of them in a magazine but I didn't know they made noise," Jack said.

"Yep, they make a racket when yer up close. You just don't remember. Anyway, I got somethin for ya, been carryin this around with me the last few years." He fumbled around under the blanket and drew out a bar made of metal and wood with holes in it. He held it up for Jack to see.

"Know what this is?" the man asked. Jack shook his head. "It's a harmonica." The old man blew into it as he moved it along his lips and an ascending scale of notes warbled out. "You make music with it. Try it." He handed it to Jack, who turned it around in his hand before putting it to his mouth. He blew into it like he was trying to blow up a balloon and a strange sound blasted out of it.

The man cackled with laughter. "Not so hard. Blow it gently. You can suck in air too, get a different sound."

Jack tried that for a minute, and liked the sounds he was making even if the man kept rolling his eyes. After a few minutes of noodling around with the harmonica, Jack tried to give it back but the man nudged his hand away.

"Keep it. You practice, you'll be able to play a real tune someday," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then he shifted so he could look into Jack's eyes. "Be nice to see you one more time before... Can you visit again soon?" His voice sounded shaky.

Jack wished he could promise the man he'd return, but he could never control when this happened. He wanted to make the man happy, though, so he said, "Maybe if you send a message?"

"I'll run up a flag, then," the man said. "Ain't gonna be a rainbow flag, though," he added with a guffaw and slapping his knee.

-

Suddenly Jack saw flames before his eyes and he was back sitting on the couch, alone. The sound of the knee-slapping continued but it was coming from the kitchen. His father had finished seeing to the stock in the barn and was beating snow off his legs as he spoke to Jack's mother. Jack slid down and stretched out on the couch, pulling the blanket over himself. He felt around for the harmonica but as he had expected, it hadn't come back with him. He was sorry about that, sorry for the man who had waited so long to give him that gift. He would ask for a harmonica for his birthday. He'd practice hard and maybe someday he'd see the man again. He would smile to hear how well Jack played.


	7. Chapter 6

**Jack at 6**

_**July 14, 1950 **_

He was sitting with his back against the rear wall of his bedroom closet, left arm stretched out and groping in the slot where he kept secret things, searching for the burlap bag. His daddy had this room when he was a boy, and probably knew about this hiding place. But it didn't matter, because he was a grownup now and didn't need to keep secrets. His fingers brushed against the string hanging from the nail and it slipped down onto the floor of the little cubby. He pressed his shoulder into the space and turned his face so he could peer into the darkness with one eye, stretched his hand and, when he felt the rough fabric, concentrated on hooking it with his longest finger. His mother's voice drifted up from the kitchen, calling him to breakfast.

November 14, 1975  
He had been touching the bag with his fingertips, but suddenly he couldn't feel it. After flapping his hand around in vain, he pulled his face away to answer his mother. He noticed the closet had become crowded with boxes but he was most startled when he looked through the doorway. His plain bedroom seemed ablaze with color and clutter. Where his window should be was a white wall with a big picture of a bucking horse and a cowboy. Below it was a bed with a brightly patterned cover, and lying in the bed was a boy with a glass stick clamped between his lips staring at the ceiling. He could tell this boy was bigger than him; he looked like a third grader.

Just as he was wondering if this was a dream a woman entered the room and went to the bedside.

"Let's check that." She withdrew the glass stick from the boy's mouth, and he realized it was a thermometer.

"One hundred. You gotta little fever, honey, so you should stay in bed today." The woman left the room and returned a moment later with a small bottle and a glass of water. She unscrewed the bottle cap and shook something into her hand which she held out to the boy in the bed, palm flat. He picked the tiny tablets one at a time from her hand, put them in his mouth and chewed, then took a sip of the water.

"You want somethin ta eat?"

The boy shook his head.

"OK, I'll be in the office. Just yell if you want anything." She took the water glass from him and set it on his bedside table, then pulled the door closed behind her as she left the room.

He suddenly realized he was naked. Clothes were hanging above him, brushing his head, and he reached up to pull down a garment. The boy in the bed noticed the movement and looked right at him. He stared at Jack for a long moment but didn't seem surprised to see him.

"How come you got blue eyes now?" the boy said finally.

A question with no answer.

"You're supposed to wear clothes. How come you ain't got any this time?"

He put his hand on the shirt hanging above him. "Can I wear some a yours?"

"They're gonna be too big for you," the boy pointed out. "But there's some old clothes of mine in that basket over there."

He swiveled around and knee-walked a few feet to the wicker basket on the floor, reached in and pulled out a gray T shirt printed with a pattern of fat sheep and a pair of black shorts. He pulled them on while still sitting on the floor, then looked at the older boy expectantly, wondering what he should do next. This didn't feel like a dream, and he didn't mind that — he was happy to have someone to play with for once.

"What grade're you in?"

"First."

The boy frowned. "I thought... well, OK." He paused. "We could play this game I have; it's two guys punching each other in the head."

Not sure how that sort of game was supposed to be fun, he just nodded. The other boy climbed out of bed, went to the closet and rummaged noisily among the toys on the floor. He pulled out something that looked like two small men, one blue and one red, attached to a yellow base. They had very angular heads and square jaws and were made out of some strange material. He set them on the floor and showed him how to work the levers that made them advance and retreat and their fists fly out in the direction of the other's jaw.

"OK, this is my daddy fighting your daddy. What's your daddy's name?" demanded the boy.

"John."

"My daddy's name is Jack." He paused. "You know my name is Bobby, right?."

"Oh. I'm Johnny."

"But..." Bobby looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Well, you're a junior, then. I think my daddy is a junior, too, cause my mother said once that he has the same name as his daddy. But I never seen that grandpa."

Once he got used to working the levers, Johnny enjoyed this game — especially when he started pretending that it was him fighting his own, mean daddy. He sent a fist flying smack into the jaw of his opponent and the head popped up on the figure's extended neck.

"Knocked his block off!" shouted Bobby. They both laughed.

Just then they heard a man's voice saying Bobby's name right on the other side of the door. Bobby looked at Johnny and pointed to the underside of the bed. In an instant, Johnny sprawled out flat on his belly, elbows and knees knocking at the floorboards, and wriggled under the bed.

Bobby's father entered the room as Bobby was scrambling back into bed. Johnny felt the mattress dip above him as the man sat on the edge of it. The man's black cowboy boots were inches from his face and he studied the pattern on the leather as he listened to their conversation, one so different from any he had with his own father, who never once came to his bedside when he was sick. When the man mentioned Wyoming, Johnny suddenly smelled eggs and bacon.

-

He was lying on his stomach, staring at the heels of his father's old boots that were stored at the back of his closet. He shivered and raised his head from the floor. His room was empty but the pajamas he'd been wearing were now folded neatly on top of his bed, which was made. He quickly dressed and went down to the kitchen. His mother turned from the stove to look at him.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Playing with a friend," he answered, as he slid onto a chair at the table.

His mother set a plate of eggs before him and smoothed some hair off his forehead. "I'm glad," she smiled.

As he ate he thought about that boy's pleasant bedroom and nice father and began to feel the glimmer of some feeling that much later he would identify as hope. His home was no longer the world -— somewhere beyond the edge of the plain there was color, and men with warm voices.

When his mother was tucking him into bed that night, he told her he wanted to change his name. "I want to be called 'Jack'."

She smiled at him and tweaked his nose. "Johnny's not grown up enough for you, then?"

"I want my own name, not Daddy's. It's too confusing," he amended, when he saw her frown.

"Alright then. Jack."


	8. Chapter 7

**Jack at 7**

_**January 5, 1951**_

"Just one more chapter and then I have to start supper."

"Alright Mama." Jack snuggled against his mother's side. They were sitting together on the couch in front of the fire, he wrapped in a blanket. Icy snow chittered against the windows with each gust of wind. He'd had a bad case of flu right after Christmas and was better now but tired enough for his mother to prevail against his father when he wanted Jack to help with the chores in this bad weather. During his illness she'd read to him from the books Uncle Harold had sent him as a Christmas present. They were about a pig detective named Freddy who lived on a farm full of talking animals in New York state. His father detested these "pansy" books, as he called them, but Jack loved them. They had finished _Freddy the Cowboy _and now she was reading from _Freddy Goes Camping_. Disguised as a man, Freddy was setting up a campsite with a real man by the edge of a lake in order to solve the mystery of a haunted hotel on the opposite side. They had just erected a tent shaped like a pyramid and arranged stones in a circle for the cooking fire which Freddy, a novice camper, was trying to light. Jack giggled at the image because even he knew how to lay a proper fire.

Just then one of the logs in the fireplace shifted and popped, sending sparks flying up the chimney. Jack was startled to see them change colors and shower back down.

July 4th, 2002  
The popping sounds continued and now all he could see was multi-colored sparks against a night sky. The fire had vanished. He was still leaning against his mother, but his blanket was gone. In fact, his mother seemed to have the blanket around herself now. His pajamas had disappeared as well, though he wasn't cold because the air was very warm. They were no longer on a soft couch indoors but sitting on a kind of long wooden, swaying seat on a porch. He sat up straight and looked up at his mother, then frowned when he saw an old man staring down at him from under the brim of his hat. A slow smile spread across the man's face. He lifted half the blanket from himself and draped it over Jack's body.

"Bout time you showed up. Been sittin here every July fourth waitin fer you t'watch the fireworks with me," he said mildly in a slightly hoarse voice. "Shoulda thoughta tryin this from the start." He reached up and touched a big black and white feather stuck in his hat band.

"Do you have the flu?" Jack asked, wondering at the blanket in summer. Even in the dim light he could tell the man's skin had a strange pallor.

"Nah," the man answered, looking away from him and toward the sparks shooting into the sky above the treetops.

"Those are fireworks? I seen pictures of them in a magazine but I didn't know they made noise," Jack said.

"Yep, they make a racket when yer up close. You just don't remember. Anyway, I got somethin for ya, been carryin this around with me the last few years." He fumbled around under the blanket and drew out a bar made of metal and wood with holes in it. He held it up for Jack to see.

"Know what this is?" the man asked. Jack shook his head. "It's a harmonica." The old man blew into it as he moved it along his lips and an ascending scale of notes warbled out. "You make music with it. Try it." He handed it to Jack, who turned it around in his hand before putting it to his mouth. He blew into it like he was trying to blow up a balloon and a strange sound blasted out of it.

The man cackled with laughter. "Not so hard. Blow it gently. You can suck in air too, get a different sound."

Jack tried that for a minute, and liked the sounds he was making even if the man kept rolling his eyes. After a few minutes of noodling around with the harmonica, Jack tried to give it back but the man nudged his hand away.

"Keep it. You practice, you'll be able to play a real tune someday," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then he shifted so he could look into Jack's eyes. "Be nice to see you one more time before... Can you visit again soon?" His voice sounded shaky.

Jack wished he could promise the man he'd return, but he could never control when this happened. He wanted to make the man happy, though, so he said, "Maybe if you send a message?"

"I'll run up a flag, then," the man said. "Ain't gonna be a rainbow flag, though," he added with a guffaw and slapping his knee.

-

Suddenly Jack saw flames before his eyes and he was back sitting on the couch, alone. The sound of the knee-slapping continued but it was coming from the kitchen. His father had finished seeing to the stock in the barn and was beating snow off his legs as he spoke to Jack's mother. Jack slid down and stretched out on the couch, pulling the blanket over himself. He felt around for the harmonica but as he had expected, it hadn't come back with him. He was sorry about that, sorry for the man who had waited so long to give him that gift. He would ask for a harmonica for his birthday. He'd practice hard and maybe someday he'd see the man again. He would smile to hear how well Jack played.


	9. Chapter 8

**Jack at 8**

**February 13, 1953**

"Who is the valentine for?"

Though he hadn't heard his mother come into his room, he didn't jump at the sound of her voice; he was accustomed to her quiet movements. He concentrated on the scissors as he followed the curves he'd drawn on the red construction paper. The surface of his wooden desk was strewn with scraps from failed attempts to cut out a heart.

"We have to make them," he muttered without looking up. One side of the heart always came out bigger. "To give to people. I'm only making one."

Then she was warm at his side, her hand gently ruffling his hair. "Who's the lucky girl?"

He paused in his cutting for a heartbeat. "It's for Eddy. He's my best friend in class."

When his mother said nothing, he looked up at her. Her face wore a frown, but a puzzled rather than an angry one.

"You want to give a valentine to a boy."

It was just a statement of fact, not a question, but his fingers suddenly felt too big for the blunt, little-kid scissors. He understood then that two of those words were not supposed to be in the same sentence when it concerned him. He wrenched the scissors off his thumb and threw down the paper heart..

"There's a trick to making a heart come out even, my love," she said gently, lowering herself down to sit next to him on the bench. She took a new sheet of paper and folded it in half. With a pencil she drew half a heart, starting and ending at the fold, and told him to cut along the line. When he did, and opened it out, the two halves were identical: a perfect valentine.

He stared at it in admiration, and heard the smile in her voice when she said, "Give it to anyone you want, Jack."

But now he knew he couldn't do that. He held up the red paper heart and opened and closed it several times, like butterfly wings.

**February 14, 1992**

He was in a bathroom, sitting on a toilet seat lid with his hands before his face, his fingers pinching nothing. Straight ahead of him was a transparent curtain with many colorful butterflies printed on it. To his left was a window but he couldn't see through the bottom pane – the glass was a bumpy surface. He looked up at the top half and could see fine snow flakes drifting down. To his right was a square white sink and beyond that was the door, which was closed. If he was lucky, no one on the other side would need to go to the bathroom and he could just wait in here until leaving time came.

He noticed the sink had only one faucet, not two separate ones for hot and cold water, and there was a lever above it. How did that work? He stood up and swiveled the lever back and forth to no effect. But when he lifted it, water gushed out of the faucet in a straight, white column. Instantly he needed to pee very urgently. He quickly pushed the lever down to stop the flow, then turned and lifted the toilet lid and took aim at the water, amusing himself by painting the sides of the bowl with the yellow stream.

Swift, heavy footsteps, a rattle and a rush of air as the the door yanked open. He gasped and jumped, letting go of himself. Piss splattered yellow on the white tiled floor and the beige wall. He shivered with cold and fear and stumbled back, staring in wide-eyed panic at the tall, glaring man in the doorway, his heart racing, waiting for a curse and a slap… or worse. But the man's fierce expression changed as he stared at Jack, softened and melted the longer he looked. He appeared older than Jack's father, but more worn out than just old. Still, he was younger and much healthier than the other time Jack had seen him, when he'd given him a harmonica to play. If the man had been older than this that other time, why did he look at Jack as though he knew him?

"Don't worry 'bout the mess," the man said quickly, raising his hand like an Indian signaling peace. He stepped back into the room, disappearing for a moment, and when he returned he was cradling a blue shirt in both hands. "Let's get you covered up. Too cold to be walkin round naked. C'mere," the man murmured. He held the shirt carefully by the collar, letting it hang down.

His gentle tone was reassuring. Jack stepped over to him and put each arm into a sleeve. The hem came to just above his knees and the cuffs were several inches below his fingertips. The man bent and started to fasten the buttons but Jack brushed his hand away.

"I can do it," he said. He shoved each sleeve to his elbow and then buttoned the shirt from top to bottom. Something went wrong, though, because he used up the holes before he got to the last button. Jack looked up when he heard the man make a gentle snorting sound, and saw he wore a little smile.

"Oughta do up them buttons from the bottom," the man said, adding softly, "I used to love to watch that." All at once the smile fell away and the man put his hand to his mouth, looking at Jack with shining eyes.

"I seen you last winter," Jack said, a little confused. "'Cept it was summer at your place. You were… old."

The man put his hand on Jack's shoulder and gently squeezed it. "Good to know that I'll get old and still be seein you."

Jack craved more of that warm, firm pressure. Wanted to feel it on both shoulders, because he knew it wouldn't lead to a shaking. But the man gave him a little tug and led him through the door into the room, which had an unmade bed in one corner, a little kitchen in another. The carpeted floor felt soft under Jack's feet. A big fat, brown tipped-back chair in one corner faced a box with glass in the front. Under a wide window that had a white curtain screening the bottom half stood a plain pine table and two cane-bottomed chairs. A cigarette was smoldering in a black ashtray on the table, the smoke curling up to the ceiling.

Jack walked to the window and peeked out through the gap in the curtain, looking down onto a street with other houses on it. The snow was falling thick and downy now. A car rolled slowly through the snowstorm past the house, but it was a completely different shape from the vehicles he knew. Another car following it turned off the street and headed toward the house they were in; he pressed his nose to the pane and watched it disappear below them. He stepped back from the window and gaped down at the floor, listening to the sound of the engine underneath his feet. He looked up when he heard the man chuckle.

"I live over my daughter's garage," the man said. "My own little place here."

"What's a garage?"

The man sat down on one of the chairs and stretched out his long legs. "Like a barn for a car," he explained with a half smile.

"Is she rich?" Jack wished his mother could come here and live with this man in this fancy home where even the car had its own house.

The man picked up the cigarette and dragged on it while looking pensively at Jack, whose attention was now drawn to a familiar red shape on the table.

"You got a valentine," Jack said.

"Yep. From my grandsons. They're younger'n you." The man picked up one of the two the heart-shaped cards; "I love Grandpa" was printed in white script on the front. "It's Valentine's Day today." He looked over at Jack with a wistful expression. "Wish I coulda…"

"You got valentines from boys?"

The man gazed at the card for a moment before nodding.

"So it's alright, then?"

"Alright?"

"We have to make a valentine for somebody and I was making one for my friend but… I think I'm not 'sposed to do that."

The man sat up straight, patted his palm gently on the table. "C'mere," he said, and Jack moved around the table to stand near him. The man tapped the ash off the cigarette, which was almost burned down. He took another drag on it, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. "How old're you?"

Jack watched the smoke stream out of the man's mouth as he spoke. "Eight." He was struck with a sudden desire to try smoking a cigarette, too. "I wanna try one," he declared, pointing at the pack on the table, feeling bold.

"Yer too young."

"I'll be nine in April."

The man chuckled, but stopped abruptly. "Nine years old," he muttered, then added under his breath, "Shit." He opened the card, closed it, put it down, pulled another cigarette from the pack, fished a lighter from his shirt pocket, flicked a flame and touched it to the end. He took a drag, coughed once. "Tell you what…" The man sat up straight and leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, the card in one hand, cigarette between the fingers of the other.

Jack waited, glancing around the room and wondering if he'd ever come back here again. Someday, he decided, he would live in a house with carpets on the floor and a garage for his car.

"…I'll show you how to make a valentine you can give to your friend. But later, you hear? Don't start smokin now 'cause it's bad for ya and the younger you start the worse it is. I know yer gonna do what you want but wait till yer eighteen at least. You got it?" The rush of words surprised Jack; he nodded solemnly.

"Watch this." The man straightened up and sucked on his cigarette, his cheeks going hollow. He made his mouth big and round and blew out the smoke in a ring. Then he touched his finger to the top of the ring and for a few seconds it took the form of a heart.

"Hey! Let me try."

The man blew a smoke ring toward him and Jack touched it, but it broke up.

"Again."

"Do it gentle." He blew another ring.

Jack slowly drew his finger through it and for a split second it almost looked like a heart.

"Again."

The man crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. "You'll get it right someday," he murmured. He laid on the table the I Love Grandpa card he was still holding, then put his hand on Jack's upper arm. Closing his fingers gently around it, he drew Jack closer to him. Jack stepped forward willingly and leaned against the man, who smelled of horses and hay. Of home. He felt like closing his eyes, but didn't. If he kept them open he'd be able to remember the moment better, because he felt sure it wouldn't last much longer.

"That card you gotta give," the man murmured, "better you give it to a girl that ain't gonna get any."

As Jack straightened up in surprise, the man suddenly wrapped his arm around his shoulder and hugged him tightly to his chest. "I swear to you," he croaked out, "I'm not just some—"

He was standing by his wooden desk, as snow beat against the window and icy air leaked around the frame. Despite the chill he still felt the ghost warmth of the hug on his bare torso. His clothes were folded on the bench and the paper scraps cleared away except for the perfect heart lying on the desktop. He dressed quickly, and as he was buttoning his shirt his mother appeared in the open doorway, relief smoothing her features. Then she was next to him, pulling him to her and bending to rest her cheek on his head.

She sniffed twice. "Jack, have you been smoking?"

He never told her where he went, and she never asked. But this time he couldn't manage to keep it all in. "It was a man," he said. "You'd like him."

Holding his face between her hands, she buried her nose in his hair and inhaled deeply. She whispered something, but he couldn't make out the words.

That night after he was sent up to bed, he first sat at his desk and carefully printed his message on the valentine. The snow had stopped and the sky was clear; the full moon and the blanket of snow covering the land lit up his room.

He crawled into bed and laid the heart on top of his blanket, for her to find.


	10. Chapter 9

**Jack at 10 and 3**

_**August 12, 1954 **_

No matter what position he tried, Jack's back hurt. The angry welts on his skin, raised by his father's belt, burned and now he regretted not letting his mother rub her homemade salve into them. He gave up trying to fall asleep and sat up, shoved aside the quilt and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Moonlight slanted in through the window and lit up his wooden desk. Not for the first time he wished he had a brother to share the burden of his father's expectations, and maybe even live up to them.

He closed his eyes and tried to summon up the remnants of a once vivid dream he'd had when he was little: him with an older brother in a cheery bedroom, together punching their daddy in the head. He could almost feel this dream brother beside him, heat radiating from his body. To his right, a small sound of snot being sucked in made him open his eyes. Sitting next to him was a very small naked boy, blue eyes red from crying, who stank of piss. The boy looked up at him and Jack stared back, knowing he had a few seconds to say something that might change his life. He opened his mouth to tell him a lie but the bed was empty again.


	11. Chapter 10

**Jack at 11**

_**October 1955**_

His mother was making a patchwork quilt for his bed. They had laid the squares of fabric out on the sitting room floor, creating the pattern together. Some of the cloth was familiar; he was reminded of jackets and shirts he'd grown out of, and some of his mother's dresses. The rest came from other families: the ladies at his mother's church got together sometimes and traded remnants of old clothes. When they had pieced together their quilts, they would meet again to help each other sew on the backing.

Now he was standing at her elbow holding a stack of squares and handing them to her one by one as she stitched them together with her sewing machine. Jack was nervous because his father was due back from town soon and hated to see him helping his mother.

The old Singer had belonged to his grandmother and wasn't electrified. His mother pumped the treadle with her foot and it made such a loud racket that he only realized that his father had arrived when he heard the truck door slam. His heart leaped to his throat and he looked for a clear space to set down the fabric so he could jump back and pretend to be doing something else. Suddenly he saw that the pile of patches seemed suspended in the air for a split second before they fluttered toward the floor. He looked down and saw leaves falling onto his bare feet.

September 1997  
He was standing about ten paces from the shore of a mountain lake. A man with no hair at all on his head was squatting by the water, splashing some onto his face with one hand and holding his hat on his knee with the other. Before Jack could make a move the man rose unsteadily to his feet and turned away from the lake. When he saw Jack, his face lit up in a smile. The man looked older than the last time Jack had seen him, a long time ago, but not as old and sick as the time before that.

The man put on his hat, walked right up to Jack and ruffled his hair. "Whenever you turn up it's just when I been thinkin bout you," he chuckled. Then he moved past Jack and when Jack turned he saw him disappear into something... amazing. It was like a smooth blue cave with wings. After a moment the man re-emerged from the thing with some clothes in his hand. He saw Jack's expression and laughed. "Whatsa matter, tent don't look right?" He laughed even louder at his own joke.

"That's... a tent?" Jack looked back and forth between the contraption and the man.

"Yeah, they're sure fancier now than when we..." The man waved his hand in front of his face as if swatting at a fly, then held out a pair of jeans and a shirt to Jack and set two strange white shoes on the ground near him. "Here, put these on. My grandsons' clothes. They're a bit older'n you but only a little bigger. They're campin with me but went off on an ex-plore this mornin."

Jack pulled on the clothes but stared down at the shoes, perplexed. They were oddly shaped and had no laces. "Um, I'm alright barefoot. What happened to your hair?" he asked, looking up at the man.

The man lifted his hat for a few seconds then set it back on his bare scalp. "Got sick and the treatment made m'hair fall out. I'm doin alright for now, though."

"I seen you once when I was seven," Jack said. "You were even older. You were sittin on a porch swing and there were fireworks goin off far away. You gave me a harmonica to play."

The man looked away to the lake for a moment then went over to a tree trunk lying on the ground and sat down. "Fireworks, hmm? Well, now I know I'm gonna last another year at least. Guess I better buy a harmonica so I'll be ready for ya."

"When I got home I asked my daddy for a harmonica for my birthday but he didn't wanna give me one."

"Guess I don't blame him fer that," the man chuckled. "Don't suppose he never taught ya t'shoot, did he?"

"Yeah he did," Jack retorted. "But he don't never let me practice."

The man looked at Jack for a long moment. "Good thing for him." He glanced down at the ground and then back at Jack again and smiled. "I got a huntin rifle in the truck. You wanna practice here? You gotta stick around a bit longer than yer used to though. C'mere."

Jack hesitated, then followed the man as he walked over to the truck. He pulled out a rifle from the cab. "The boys always used this so guess you can handle it." He placed his hand gently on the back of Jack's neck and guided him to the edge of the lake. Jack felt sorry when he took his hand away to place the gun in his own.

"See that branch in the water? Why don't you..." he began but Jack was looking up into a tree just off to their right close to the shoreline. A bald eagle was perched near the top and looking out over the water.

"Bet I can hit that eagle," Jack said and looked up at the man eagerly.

The old man laughed. "Sure, go ahead and try."

Jack positioned the gun the way his daddy taught him and sighted carefully down the barrel. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Uh, maybe you better aim at somethin else cause them eagles're protected now. I bet yer a pretty good shot 'n we don't want the Fish n' Wildlife on our backs." The man went over to a cardboard box by the tent, rummaged inside and drew out a can. Then he walked over to a large rock a few yards in from the shore and set the can on top of it.

"There, try'n hit that. Know how ya feel bout beans so that should help yer aim."

Jack sighted and let fire but the bullet zinged off the rock and into the water. He heard a sudden flapping of wings and turned to see the eagle lift off heavily from the branch. One black feather fell away from the bird and floated toward the ground. The old man watched too, and after the eagle had soared out of sight he told Jack to take another shot at the can. He fired again and was quite satisfied to see the can of beans burst apart just before the gun clattered to the ground.

-

The sewing machine was clattering and he was standing at his mother's elbow as if he'd never left. The quilt squares were back in a tidy pile on the table. When she reached the end of a line of stitches, his mother stopped the machine and turned to look at him. She nodded to his clothes that were folded neatly next to the pile of fabric.

"While you were gone I took the opportunity to mend the rip in your jeans and sew a button back on your shirt," she said quietly. "Your daddy's waiting for you out in the barn."

As he was crossing from the house to the barn a gust of wind came up and sent leaves and dust swirling across the yard. He saw a blue jay feather mixed in with them and chased after it. When he'd caught it he brushed it back and forth across his cheek before tucking it under the porch stair. He would retrieve it later and hide it in the usual place. It would remind him of the eagle he didn't shoot and the feather he couldn't have.


	12. Chapter 11

**Jack at 15**

_**October 19, 1959 **___

Jack lay on his side on his bed, head propped on one hand as he leafed through a _Silver Screen_ magazine with the other. The lamp on the wall above him cast a glare on the slick paper and he had to tilt the page at times to read the captions. A girl had left it behind in class and he'd slipped it into his notebook on the way out of the room. The blond actor on the cover had caught his eye. He scanned the star's biography but after the second paragraph he returned to the start and read it to the end. The western he would be starring in was coming out in a few months, and Jack wondered if it would play in Sheridan. Wondered, if it did, how he would ever get there.

He continued turning the shiny pages, pausing at a photo of Elizabeth Taylor looking sad, her eyes staring unfocused into the distance, in a scene from her new film. Her eyebrows were thick and dark, like his, her hair glossy black. He stroked the paper with his thumb, passing over her full, red lips. He rubbed the paper harder, enjoying the squeak it made. Nothing here was smooth and sleek like this. He carried on stroking the paper with his thumb, thinking about the movie theater in Sheridan and the problem of getting there. He noticed the lamplight had dimmed and, looking down at his hand, realized the magazine was gone and he was cold.

April 4, 1983_  
_His thumb was stroking some strange, slippery fabric. Looking up, he could tell he was enclosed in a shelter with curving sides; reaching out, he ran his finger along it and was surprised at how thin, taut and smooth the material was. A tent? The flickering glow of a fire filtered through.

He became aware of male voices a short distance away. When one of them said, "Gonna snow tonight fer sure" he sat up and shivered. Groping around, he closed his hand on a blanket and slowly pulled it around him, careful to make no sound. Then he peered through a gap where the entrance must be. A man was sitting hunched inside his thick jacket in a low, folding chair about twenty feet away, his face in profile illuminated by a wood fire at his feet. Beyond him was another man but Jack could see only his legs stretched toward the flames. The man close to him took a drag on a handrolled cigarette and asked the other something about finding someone to marry, then passed it to him. Jack sat up straight in shock, cold charge running through him to see himself so old, so tired. He studied the mustache, thought it looked pretty good.

Jack paid no attention to the man's mumbled answer until he said "What about you n'Lureen?"

His future old self raised a whiskey bottle to his lips and said "Lureen's good at makin the hard deals in the machinery business, but far's our marriage goes we could do it over the phone."

_Do it over the phone_. He lay back down, pondering. Doing it. Over the phone. How would that work?

He imagined picking up the receiver, hard, smooth and curved under his palm. Warm where another hand had held it. He brought his hand near to his ear, fingers curved as if gripping the phone, let his right hand drift down between his legs, where he was growing hard. Men's voices murmured low nearby; he imagined whispers and moans coming through the earpiece, felt the mouthpiece hard and warm against his lips. He squeezed the phone tighter, clenching and flexing his hand, caressing the smooth Bakelite with his thumb, stroking himself, increasing the tempo. Closed his eyes, let his tongue come out and touch the mouthpiece, the little holes rasping against the tip as he licked. _Miss you so much_. Panting, heart thudding, thrashing and thrusting urgently into his hand... _shit yes! _ Can hardly stand it... Phone ringing, ringing for him...

-

He came like a freight train, shooting out between his fingers, heart hammering in his chest, gasping for breath. Startled by the sound of sizzling above him, he opened his eyes and saw he was back on his bed, t-shirt and boxers underneath him, magazine's slick paper pressing into his back. The wall above his pillow was a mess, pearls of warm spunk bubbling on the hot bulb of his lamp.

His mother's voice, on the phone with his aunt, drifted up from the kitchen. He reached for a corner of his mama's quilt and flipped it over, wiping his hand on the cotton backing. When he sat up the magazine stuck to his sweaty skin for a few seconds before peeling off and dropping back onto the mattress. He stared at the page with the photo of the dark-haired, blue-eyed actress. Wondered about his future wife and her hard deals. Ripped out the page, pulled a tack from the wall and pinned her photo over his bed. Then he flipped back several pages to find the article about the blond actor and carefully pulled it away from the binding. He read it again, stared at the photo, then folded it once, taking care not to let the crease run through the man's face. Slipped off the bed and went to hide it with his other treasures.


	13. Chapter 12

**Jack at 18 (1)**

_**August 8, 1962 **_

Jack tightened his grip on the lamb struggling in his lap and pried a tiny jagged stone from between the cleft in its hoof. The stench of scorched wool and rotting mutton wafted past his nose even though he'd moved the flock away to another hillside. He wasn't sure if this lamb would make it; it was born in late spring and wasn't fully weaned. Its mother had been one of the 40 or so victims of the lightning strike the previous night. Pain relieved, the lamb bleated softly. Jack reflexively glanced around before cuddling the creature. He knew what his father would have done with it.

As he stroked the soft fleece under his hand, his eyes scanning the rest of the flock, he became aware that the gentle _mehs_ of the lamb sounded human and were coming from slightly to his right. He looked down at his lap. The lamb was gone and so were his clothes. Instead of an uneven rock against his back, he felt smooth wood planks.

June 6, 1953  
He turned his head. A few feet away, a young boy with short bristly hair was kneeling doubled over, facing the wooden wall Jack was sitting against, retching and weeping.

Jack watched the boy for a moment, could almost believe he had gone back to Lightning Flat and was seeing himself. That had happened once — had he been the visitor or the host? — but the encounter had lasted mere seconds, not enough time for him to help his younger self. This boy was a stranger, but his experience was familiar.

Jack raised his hand to comfort him, but the movement brought his head up and he saw Jack. Shock and panic flooded his eyes and he reared back, scrambled to his feet and ran away. As Jack watched his retreating back, the boy's white shirt became a lamb trotting back to the rest of the flock.

As he pulled on his clothes, he reflected that it was a good thing the tender had no real interest in livestock — he wasn't from a ranching family, his father worked on a road crew — and didn't come up to visit him during the day. He would not like to be caught out naked like this by the dullwitted and talkative boy. If he did this again next year, he hoped he would be paired with someone quiet.


	14. Chapter 13

Note: This chapter takes place during the Cuban missile crisis.

**Jake at 18 (2)**

_**October 24, 1962**_

Jack was just passing the rodeo stables as he limped toward his truck when he heard someone calling his name. He cursed silently and turned to see a girl from his old high school class striding towards him. She was one of several who'd regularly made eyes at him, but he'd never known how to react to any of them. Right now he just wanted to get back to Lightning Flat to nurse his aching hip and savor his second place time on the bulls. He'd been steadily improving and felt sure he'd make a winning ride soon.

The girl was wearing jeans, a white western shirt with black embroidery and a fringed buckskin jacket. When she stopped in front of him he saw the pristine blue bandanna knotted around her neck was still creased. The tight copper braids from school days were gone, her hair flying loose. A little gold horseshoe hung from each earlobe, tangling in her curls. At least she wasn't wearing a hat. He couldn't remember her name.

She grinned up at him and said she was there to watch her boyfriend ride the broncs; he'd come in third. Before he could reply her face turned serious and she said suddenly "Do you think..." and then she literally threw herself at him. He caught her in his arms, then her own were around his neck and she was kissing him.

He knew what had brought this on. For nearly a week people had talked of nothing but the missiles. He'd seen men knocking back next week's entrance fee in the bar here, convinced this rodeo would be their last. Couples necked frantically in corners and writhed in truck beds. But he knew the world would not be blown up. Hadn't he seen himself old in the firelight? Three days into the crisis he'd switched off the radio his mother was constantly monitoring in the kitchen, telling her "Don't worry, it won't happen." Since that day their home was serene, though his old man's mood hadn't changed before, during or after. Jack doubted he cared whether the world came to an end.

But now he had a girl squirming against him, presenting an opportunity he'd never quite understood how to go about creating before. She pulled away, grasped his sleeve, dragged him around the corner of the stables and pushed him through an open door into a tack room. Seconds later they were down and rolling around on a pile of blankets. He wondered at his luck. When she was on her back, he fiddled open the button on her Wranglers and eased the zipper down. His hand slipped underneath the denim and the white cotton... why was he startled to encounter a featureless plain? The girl gasped, raised her hips and began to shimmy out of her jeans while toeing off her boots, practiced at this. He started to follow suit, but had shoved his jeans only halfway down when she impatiently grabbed his hand and returned it to the prairie. With his fingers he probed the pliant furrows and ridges, warm and moist as turf after a spring downpour, and paid attention to when she whimpered or cried out. When she parted her thighs he slid his hand lower. His two middle fingers sank suddenly into deep softness and he pushed them in up to the hilt while his thumb remained on the surface, ploughing away. She arched her back and moaned loudly. His fingers were long and he could feel a rigid knob way in there. When he swirled the tip of a finger on it she yelped and clamped her thighs together, trapping his hand.

During this exploration his mind was traveling on two parallel tracks. One part was rushing forward, propelled by a single idea: he was about to fuck a girl! _This _was sex, what all the talk and pictures were about and it revved up his lust. Those things he'd thought about before, dreamt about – stroking rough skin, brushing his arms over hot damp muscles – that wasn't sex. It was surely something else. His cock was engorged and weeping and he wanted to plunge it into something. The other part of his mind was focused on exploring the mysterious topography of the girl's body. But there was a disconnect; his desire didn't feel related to what his hand was doing.

He was leaning against her breast and could feel her heart pounding, saw the dip at the base of her throat pulsing, watched her face bloom pink as heat rose from her skin and sweat beaded on her forehead. Just then she reached down and clamped her hand tightly around his wrist, stopping his hand. "Stay still!" she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. He felt a fluttering around his fingers. No, not fluttering but... he closed his eyes and an image of an eagle flashed through his mind. It was launching itself from a tree branch. He could hear the long _swiiissshhh_ as the powerful wings pushed air downwards, once...twice...three times, the fingerlike feathers on the ends brushing together as they met below the raptor's talons as it strained upwards. As it gained momentum and altitude, the thrust of its wings diminished, then it flapped them one last time and glided silently away over the treetops.

He opened his eyes and saw that hers were half closed as she breathed a long sigh, felt her hand fall away from his wrist. There was a moist, sucking sound as he withdrew his fingers. He rolled between her legs, leaned forward on his elbows and entered her, surprised, just fleetingly, that it felt so different from his palm and fingers. At the second thrust he imagined grasping a large rough hand by the thumb and little finger and dragging it up his thigh. With the third the hand was wrapped around him and he groaned into her hair, his fingers smearing a wet streak onto her cheek.

They cleaned up as best they could, in silence. She didn't look him in the face as she pulled on her jeans and boots and stood up. After one embarrassed glance she turned and slipped out of the stable door. As he got to his feet he spotted a little gold horseshoe on a blanket. He picked it up and tucked the earring into his shirt pocket.

Back at home his father just grunted when Jack recounted his near-win. But he didn't care. He felt he'd passed some kind of test. In his room that night he felt the lump in his pocket as he undressed and fished out the earring. He turned it in his fingers, recalling gold against copper. Then he went to his closet and reached into the slot but his arm was too big now. It'd been ages since he'd taken out the bag. He could always unbend a wire hanger and hook it out but... He went to his old desk instead, opened a drawer and tossed the earring in.

August 4th, 1989  
When he woke up in the dark in the middle of the night it felt much too warm for the season; he must've shucked off his pajamas because of that. Then why was his back so cold? He was lying on his right side and felt waves of heat against his chest. He could hear wind gusting violently but didn't feel it. The low hills in the distance were outlined by an emerald glow emanating from somewhere beyond them. His stomach lurched. _Shit!_ Maybe he'd been wrong about the future and those missiles were launched after all.

He rose up on his elbow and the landscape changed at once. He was still in bed, but it was a bigger one than his own. Next to him a man lay on his back: his body the hills, his breath the wind. Jack reflexively moved backwards but he was already pressed against a wall, the cold plaster the source of the chill on his back. On a table next to the bed was a box with four green numbers shining brightly but giving out only a faint illumination: the glow beyond the mountains.

He could tell the man was naked too, with a white sheet draped over his hips. He was breathing hard, almost panting, both hands clutching at the bottom sheet. What he could make out of the man's profile edged in green looked familiar but Jack couldn't be sure; it had been so long ago and he looked older than the ranch hand he'd once seen lit up by the setting sun. Even so, his pulse quickened at the possibility. By now Jack's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see the man's body more clearly. His gaze halted at the sheet when he saw it tenting over his groin.

Jack felt breathless. His heart was pounding, his blood seemed to be rushing wildly in every direction. He looked to the man's face and back to the sheet. He watched his own hand as if it belonged to someone else as it reached out, pinched the edge of the linen and slowly lifted the sheet away, dragging it over the man's erection. His own cock curved towards his belly at the sight. Immediately, the man's breathing turned into moans.

"Now Jack, now...oh god...Jack!"

_Jesus!_ The man whose body had been the subject of his fantasies for nearly six years – for suddenly he understood that's what those thoughts were – was lying at his side having a sex dream about _him_. Jack felt nearly paralyzed with desire and fear. He had not yet met this older man for real, but he must be feeding his dreams on memories of Jack and things they'd already done together. But what things? He edged closer to the man (to Ace!) and moved his face close to his.

"I'm right here," Jack murmured and feathered a finger over the man's throat. Ace's right hand flew up and seized Jack's, squeezing it.

"Jack? Jack?" he gasped. The man moved his hand up, grasped Jack's shoulder and pulled him onto his body. Jack tensed for a moment, resisting. He wasn't sure what he wanted. Ace curled his other arm around Jack's neck and in one swift movement rolled their bodies, tumbling him onto his back, sliding on top of him and pressing him into the mattress with all his length and weight. He began to kiss Jack in a frenzy, not only on his lips but every inch of his face, scouring stubble trailed by soft lips and velvet tongue, strong hands cradling his head, whispering in his ear _Knew you'd come knew you'd find me stay please stay_. Jack's eyes were wide open in the dark, his arms spread out, palms down and fingers splayed, lungs trying to pull in air. Ace ground into him, their cocks rubbing slickly together, and let out a long moan.

Or was he weeping? Whatever he had done to this man, or would do one day, it seemed he was forgiven. He grasped the man's elbows and shushed him _ssshhhh s'alright._ He smoothed his hands up the man's trembling arms and over his shoulders, brushed his hands down his warm back, down and down, over and over, stroking his long muscles, as the man continued to kiss and suck and whisper to him. Something that had once been sturdy broke apart inside Jack. He wrapped his arms tightly around the heaving back, closed his eyes and opened his mouth and let him in. A thousand suns exploded and

then his arms were empty and he was alone in his own bed, shouting.


	15. Chapter 14

**Jack at 19 (1)**

_**June 15, 1963**_

Jack thought it strange that there was no tendril of wood smoke curling up from the forest below as he started down the trail toward camp that evening. Half an hour later he paused at a belvedere and peered down toward the clearing. He could make out the tent through the trees but saw no sign of activity. It was Friday so Ennis had gone for supplies, but he should've been back by now. When he reached home, as he thought of it, he saw that both the mule and Ennis' horse were missing. He dismounted and walked around, peering into the woods and listening, surprised at how disappointed he felt not to hear Ennis' laconic greeting. They had parted ways for the day at the same time that morning, Jack heading up to the sheep and Ennis down to the bridge to meet the Basque. What could've happened?

_Well, better get a fire going at least_, he told himself, so he collected some kindling and in a few minutes had a pot of water heating up. Restless with worry, he paced back and forth as the light dimmed, imagining the next-to-worse – Ennis injured and unconscious or unable to walk, Cigar Butt running off. With no moon tonight it would be too dark to ride out searching for him. If Ennis wasn't back by dawn he'd head out to find him, the hell with the sheep.

As he turned to pace back across the clearing, he froze. A naked man was sitting on the tree trunk before the fire, watching him. It took him several seconds to realize who it was. He walked slowly up to him and stood with his hands on his hips.

"Well, when're you comin from?"

"Sixty-nine."

"What were you doin?"

"Watchin TV in a motel room."

"Ennis went on the food run this mornin and still isn't back."

"I know."

"I'm worried as hell. He might be hurt. He—" Jack dropped his hands to his sides. "You _know_ what's happened don't you?" he exclaimed. "Where is he? Is he in trouble? If he is I gotta go find him. Tell me!" He grabbed the other Jack's shoulder and shook him. "Tell me what _happened_, damn you!"

Despite his anger Jack couldn't help studying his face, examining the changes. He looked different, but he couldn't say exactly how. Most of the change was in his eyes.

"I can't tell you what's happened to Ennis," he said, taking hold of Jack's wrist and easing his hand off his shoulder. "If I do, it might change what happens next and then where would I be?"

Jack turned away and stared out at the dark curtain of tall pines. An owl hooted nearby; seconds later a faint answering cry came from deep in the woods. This fledgling friendship was suddenly precious to him, a delicate thing he'd been nurturing for the past two weeks, waiting for it to take wing. If something had happened to Ennis... His sinuses pricked and he breathed out sharply through his nose.

When he turned back, his older self was looking at him with sympathy written on his face. "Alright," he sighed. "Alright. He's... he'll be back before morning."

Relief flooded through Jack. He inhaled deeply and dropped down to sit beside him. They sat in silence for a minute. Jack tried to think of a safe question to ask about the future.

"Hey," he said suddenly. "Who's the president now? Can you tell me that?"

"Nope. Tell you what though, rodeoin will save our life. Just one thing," his 25 year old self went on, "when he gets back, you gotta make like you're pissed off. You go fallin all over him, well, you'll scare him. Yeah, I know what you're thinkin," he went on, seeing Jack's expression. "I remember. But you gotta take it real slow with him. First try n' make him laugh."

He leaned toward the flames and stared into them. "Nother thing. If you see me again up here, and I tell you to say somethin, well—"

He was gone. Jack stared into the space he'd occupied and wondered how he would've finished the sentence. He threw more sticks on the fire and settled down to wait, still anxious about Ennis. He reached for the whiskey bottle. It would help him work himself into a snit.


	16. Chapter 15

**Jack at 19 (2)**

**July 15th, 1963**

Jack made sure Ennis could see him coming from a long way off. He rode slowly, puffing quickly and steadily on the cigarette between his lips so that clouds of smoke drifted above his head. His herding partner sat stoically on Cigar Butt with his arms folded, staring in Jack's direction, not making a move away from the milling sheep. When he was actually up here, Ennis took his duties seriously.

The Basque had forgotten their cigarette order the previous week, or so he claimed – Jack thought he just took perverse pleasure in depriving them of one essential item each time. They'd had to ration the smokes, and even so they'd run out two nights earlier. Last night Jack had been so cranky that Ennis left to return to the sheep right after supper, instead of lingering by the fire.

Today the soup they'd ordered was missing, but Jack had hardly cared, as long as the carton of smokes was in the mix.

"Got you Marlboros," the Basque had said, running the consonants together so it came out marbows. "No Lucky Strikes."

Jack had snapped, "Don't give a shit what they're called, long as they burn," as he peeled the cellophane from a pack.

"Me, I don't touch. They will make you sick someday."

Maybe it was hearing the guy's accent that sent Jack off to Mexico as soon as the truck was out of sight. Well, he assumed he'd been somewhere south of Texas, from the voices and the cooking smells drifting in through the open window. One moment he'd been settling into the saddle, the next he was sitting naked on a wobbly wooden chair in a hot, dark room. The humidity had been a shock to his lungs, used to thin, dry air. Neither the overhead nor the bedside lamp was on, but the light from the blinking bar sign across the street gave him a clear view of the action. He'd been there less than a minute but what he saw had occupied his mind for hours after his return.

Would he ever tell Ennis his secret? This thing he did – that happened to him – once or twice a year that only his mother knew about? He saw Ennis lift the reins and urge his horse into a walk down the slope toward him. Could Ennis handle more than one secret in his life?

_Don't even think about it._

Ennis' horse had broken into a trot. Jack pulled the pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

"Hey gimme one, Jack!" Ennis called out when he was in shouting distance.

Jack smirked around his cigarette. "All gone," he drawled when Ennis rode up. He squinted at him through the smoke. "You'll get _yours_ at supper."

Ennis pulled alongside him, the horses nickering their greeting. "Fuck you, Twist," he growled. The riders' left legs brushed together, denim ruffing and the leather saddles creaking as their mounts shifted beneath them.

Jack grunted a laugh as Ennis leaned toward him and grabbed his arm, shoving his hand under his jacket, feeling for the cigarette pack.

"Know you got 'em." Ennis kept scrabbling his fingers all over Jack's chest, long after it was clear the smokes weren't in either shirt pocket, making him squirm and snort with pleasure. They'd both sleep in the tent that night, for sure.

Jack leaned toward Ennis, splaying his fingers over his friend's thigh as he reached into his jacket pocket with his other hand. Impatient, Ennis plucked the cigarette from between Jack's lips and put it between his own. His eyes closed in pleasure and relief as he sucked the smoke into his lungs.

Jack squeezed Ennis' thigh, felt the hard muscles flex beneath his fingers. "Wish I could be that cigarette right now," he said low.

Ennis looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then colored.

_Good._

At first Jack hadn't looked at the face of the half-naked man sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, just six feet away. His eyes had gone straight to the bent head of the guy kneeling between his legs, lips and tongue playing along the engorged cock of the seated man, whose long pale fingers gripped and pulled at black hair. His tongue darted and swirled energetically around the head as one hand stroked the man's shaft and the other fondled his balls. The man getting blown groaned his pleasure. Within seconds Jack had an erection. _That tongue, fuck…_ That was… instructive. If he did it like that to Ennis, would he finally…

The very second he thought of his companion, the panting man hissed and sighed: "Ennisss fuuuuck."

His first thought when he jerked his gaze up to the man's profile was: _It's me, older_. He looked back down to verify: _It's not Ennis_.

He returned his gaze to his own face and a second later his older self abruptly turned his head and looked straight at him. For two heartbeats their eyes locked and then he was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, blinking in the bright sunlight. His horse was grazing a few yards away with Jack's jeans and shirt draped over the saddle; his jacket and boots were on the ground.

Why had he been in Mexico? Vacation? Rodeo? The sight of a wisp of smoke rising from the pine needles where his cigarette had fallen cut short his musings. Even after he'd kicked dirt over the flames, dressed, located the pack mule, remounted and headed back up, the brief scene he'd witnessed remained vivid in his mind's eye. He couldn't tell how old he'd been, but Ennis was clearly still on his mind. Maybe they were together. Maybe he'd never managed to convince Ennis to suck him off and had to go elsewhere for that.

_Yeah, sure. _

Still braced on Ennis' thigh, Jack fished a cigarette out of the pack of Marlboros in his jacket pocket and put it between his own lips. He grabbed hold of Ennis' collar and drew him close, no yanking needed because the man leaned in willingly, even tipping Jack's hat back so his cigarette's glowing tip could touch the other. Jack sucked in his cheeks, looking Ennis in the eyes as the end ignited. He smoothed his palm down to Ennis' knee as he straightened up.

"They're sayin these can kill ya, you smoke too much," Jack said on the exhale.

"Ain't gonna worry 'bout that just yet." Ennis took a long, deep drag, blew out to the side, away from Jack.

Jack let out a perfect smoke ring, his mouth a big O, and watched it hang in the air.

Ennis blew one of his own, not as fine as Jack's. Jack made another ring, and as soon as it was out of his mouth he touched the top with his index finger. For a few seconds a smoky heart floated in the thin air.

Ennis grunted, impressed. He tried to do the same, but the smoke ring just wobbled and broke up.

"Some old guy showed me that when I was a kid," Jack said. He gazed into the distance, trying to recall the details of that visit. It had been snowing there that day.

Ennis grimaced, stubbed out the butt on the pommel and flicked it away. He turned in the saddle and looked back up toward the sheep. "Better get on back," he muttered.

_Shit, he means me, too. Fuck him._ Jack bit out, "You practice, by Valentine's Day you can make one for—"

"Shut up." Ennis grabbed Jack's wrist and brought his hand to his own mouth. He took a drag from the cigarette between Jack's fingers; Jack could feel the brush of his lips and the warmth of Ennis' face on his palm but couldn't see his eyes, hidden by his hat brim.

Ennis pulled back and looked away but didn't let go of Jack's hand, gripping it hard. "Gonna stay up here with me?"

_Guess I will forever, one way or another._

Jack waited until Ennis met his gaze, then he smiled. "Yeah. You bet."


	17. Chapter 16

_**August 17, 1963 **_

Jack watched Ennis' slight figure recede in the side mirror until he was a smudge, a speck, a pinprick at the foot of the mountain. As his friend shrank away to nothing, the knot in his stomach wound round, looping, turning, expanding to such a size that he could feel the frayed rope scraping and burning his guts as the miles of black asphalt unfurled under his coughing, rattling truck. Ennis' parting words still rang in his ears : _You may be queer but I ain't._

He needed to find a bar as soon as possible.

An hour later he did, and when he finally stumbled out of it the sun was setting. Even if he'd been in any shape to drive, he was nearly out of gas, so he pulled the horse blanket from the truck bed and curled up in the cab. He touched his sore cheek bone, the bruise the only thing he had to remind him of Ennis and soon that would be gone. He supposed that was just as well. As he closed his eyes he thought he could smell woodsmoke.

July 1st, 1963

He opened his eyes to see light filtering through canvas and felt a surge of joy. It had been a dream oh yes — they were still on the mountain, reprieved, another month's pay after all. He rolled over; no Ennis but he could hear him saddling up Cigar Butt. He sat up and pushed aside the tent flap. Through a scrim of smoke from the smoldering fire he saw Ennis at the side of Jack's mare cinching the straps. Wearing Jack's black Resistol.

Jack frowned and looked around the tent in confusion. When he saw the stained jeans, his heart leaped to his throat. He looked out again and saw his gray mare emerge from behind the smoke, watched himself attempting to mount his horse and winced in sympathy. His gaze went automatically to the tree stump and he saw himself lead the mare to it, step onto it carefully and climb awkwardly into the saddle, face laced with pain. As he watched himself turn his horse to leave, he made a decision. He leaped up and burst out of the tent, startling the mare and bringing forth a string of curses from the rider.

"Ah shit! Jesus Christ godammit!" Jack hissed as the mare bounced him in the saddle.

"Sorry, sorry! I forgot." He reached over and seized her halter, stroked her neck to gentle her.

"When're ya comin from then?" Jack asked.

"Bout 6 weeks from now."

"How'd ya get the bruise?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Well shit." He pointed toward the tent with his chin. "Hope it don't hurt so much next time." Paused. "Is there a next time?" he added, plaintively.

"Yeah, but —" he stopped, deliberating. Could a lie make a difference, change the future? He looked up. "When you see him, tell him... tell him you're _not _queer."

Jack stared at him a moment. "Alright," he muttered finally and turned his horse around, moving off slowly.

He watched himself disappear into the woods, remembering the long slow, worried ride up to the sheep, then turned back to the tent to crawl into the bedroll. The jeans. He gathered them up along with two soiled shirts and carried them to the stream. As he squatted by the water and beat the clothes with a stick he shivered in the breeze and looked toward the mountain. When the two of them returned he would not be there. But where would he be when he woke up?

August 17, 1963

Jack watched Ennis' slight figure recede in the side mirror until he was a smudge, a speck, a pin prick at the foot of the mountain. As his friend shrank away to nothing, the knot in his stomach wound round, looping, turning, expanding to such a size that he could feel the frayed rope scraping and burning his guts as the miles of black asphalt unfurled under his coughing, rattling truck. It was choking him, he could barely breathe. He could slice it in two at the next bar or go back and try to unpick it. His foot lightened on the pedal, so many what ifs crowding his mind, until at last he swung his pickup into a slow, wide arc in the middle of the empty road and urged it back to Signal.

Ennis was gone. There was no sign of him in town or for miles down the road heading out, no one leaning out from the roadside between him and the horizon. The wind bent the grass in the direction Jack was driving, hissing _this way this way this way_, gas gauge pointing to E. He let the truck roll off the road and stopped, not sure which direction he should be heading now anyway. The door screeched as he shoved it open and dropped to the ground. He lit a cigarette and stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the red ball sink down to graze the jagged peaks, the orange point of light under his nose pulsing as he breathed. Gingerly, he pressed a finger to the bruise on his cheekbone. He had never even asked Ennis where he planned to live after they came down. He pulled the old horse blanket from the truck bed, flicked away the butt and climbed back in the cab, curling up on the bench. At least he'd taken something to remind him of this summer.

The sun spilled over the dashboard horizon to warm his face, bringing him out of a deep sleep. He sat up stiffly, rubbed his hand over his face and winced. Glancing at the floor, he spotted the shirt he had stolen from Ennis. He picked it up and hugged it to his chest, fingering the bloodstains on the sleeve. He wondered if anything would have changed if he had not lied to Ennis, if he'd ignored what his future self had told him to say and just kept silent. He reached up and angled the rearview mirror towards his face. The bruise he'd seen on his six-week-older self had been this degree of faded. Maybe today it would happen — he'd find himself back there, and this time he'd tell himself: say nothing. And maybe he'd wake up somewhere off the mountain…with Ennis.


	18. Chapter 17

**Jack at 22**

_**June 18, 1966 **_

"C'mon honey," Lureen whined, "my feet are killin me an if we stay out in this sun much longer me 'n the baby both're gonna get heat stroke." She patted her bump with one hand while gripping Jack's arm with the other, trying to pull him from the spot on the pavement he seemed to be welded to. They were standing in front of the Childress Empire movie theater under the blazing sun and Jack was staring at the poster for the film opening that night, a western.

They were heading back to the car laden with brand new baby gear, every item supposedly essential for the optimum well-being of their offspring, whose arrival was many months away — they had known each other for hardly longer than that. Jack had been lost in a reverie about his mother's plain rocking chair when Lureen made a little appreciative sound as they drew near the theater.

"Oooh, there's a picture I wanna see, specially if that cowboy leaves his shirt off like that," she cooed. "Course I usually like 'em tall 'n dark," she added, squeezing his arm.

When he'd raised his eyes from the ground and caught sight of the poster, he'd felt a current shoot right through him. Now he could not take his eyes off the blond actor in the poster, even with his wife yanking impatiently on his sleeve. When he finally turned away he didn't look at Lureen, but down at the jagged crack in the sidewalk at their feet, the last thing he'd laid eyes on before looking up at the picture of the man whose photo he'd hidden away as a teenager. He knew that from now on he would have to avoid walking on this side of the street because that crack would remind him of the day his life in Childress split into two parts: Ennis forgotten and Ennis recalled. He could hardly believe that five minutes before he'd felt like a million bucks, even if he didn't have them. Yet.

When Lureen had informed her father that she was expecting and that they would naturally get married, the old bastard grudgingly offered Jack a sales job, though clearly convinced that Jack would be useless as a salesman. But in only a month he'd made his quota for the quarter, news that set Lureen ablaze with passion. So ended their rodeo days. But for the first time in his life he felt he had a place in the world. He was doing what other men did, had a pretty wife, a kid on the way, a job he was good at. Everything was falling into place. So why did it seem like that crack in the pavement was ripping right through his soul?

He hadn't really forgotten Ennis, no. More like, the seam in his heart that Ennis exposed, mined and abandoned had gradually been filled in — dull gravel trickling into the space where the shining ore had been. He'd seen Lureen, with her dark hair and red lips, staring at him at the rodeo bar six months before, and when the bartender told him her name, the first load of slag shifted into place. No point carrying on searching for his lost silver, easier to submit to fate. He let her lead him along the golden path to his future, hoping that with foreknowledge he could manage to steer them away from an over-the-phone marriage.

That night it was so hot he couldn't sleep. Lureen was restless, too, so he left the bed to her and retreated to the kitchen table to smoke a Lucky Strike. Sitting in the dark in just his boxers, light from surrounding houses shining in the window, he regarded the small room and calculated how many commissions it would take to make a down payment on a place of their own. He was trying to push back the ache that had been pulsing through him since the afternoon, never settling in one place — head, heart, gut and elsewhere. He crushed the butt into the black ashtray and propped his head on his hands, letting his thoughts drift, wondering how expensive air conditioning would be.

As if the mere wish for it had summoned cool air, an icy draft brushed across his bare feet and shins. Goose bumps prickled along his arms and he raised his head. He was still sitting at a table, but it was a different night in a different, even more cramped kitchen, spare and ghostly as bright moonlight flooded in the window over the granite sink. Snow covered the flat landscape outside the window, slashed with sharp shadows cast by fence posts and a few thin, bare trees. He let his gaze roam over the walls and the rough wooden cabinets, taking in the ancient icebox, the washboard under the sink, the feed store calendar on the wall that was the sole decoration. He could make out the year, 1965, but not the month; a large X filled one square in the second week. It was the kind of kitchen his mother had learned to live with.

Jack shivered in the chill and for once longed for the Texas heat. On the wall nearest to him, next to the door, several coats in just two sizes hung on wooden pegs. He reached for the nearest of the larger ones, a tan corduroy jacket with a dark fleece collar, and shrugged it on, hugging it close to his bare skin. Abruptly he staggered to his feet, nostrils flaring. Turning the collar up he buried his cheeks and nose in the soft wool and inhaled deeply. It smelled of ranch... and the taste of Ennis' neck. The image of a pavement crack flashed across his mind's eye, forking like lightning.

Just then a bedspring squeaked in an adjoining room and it was all Jack could do not to rush in there. Instead, he retreated into the dark corner behind him, crouching down next to the kerosene stove that was giving off acrid vapors and just enough heat to keep the pipes from freezing. In his semi-naked state he felt vulnerable, torn between desire to see Ennis and panic at the prospect of being discovered.

Someone pushed off from a mattress and moments later a figure moved ponderously through the doorway, slippers scuffing across the floorboards. The woman's ankles were thin below her flannel bathrobe but her belly was huge and her slow gait awkward. She paused by the sink and spit into it, hands pressing into the small of her back. Jack observed her as she stared out into the moonlit snowscape. He felt a rush of shame remembering his complaints about the rented bungalow he shared with Lureen, a palace compared to this place. One year ago he'd been sleeping in his truck—had he forgotten that quickly what it was like to be broke all the time? This ramshackle house was no place to bring home a first baby in winter.

Another movement in the doorway and his heart leaped when saw Ennis enter the kitchen wearing pajama bottoms and an undershirt, seemingly inured to the frigid air. Jack trembled with cold and emotion, heart pounding, trying to remain silent as he watched Ennis move to stand beside his wife, who seemed so tiny next to him despite her bulk, and place his hand on the back of her neck. Their figures looked like shadow puppets, black silhouettes before the window made brilliant by snow and moonlight. He concentrated on their murmured exchange.

"You alright?"

"No pains yet but think it's gonna come right on time. I should go stay at my sister's tomorrow, be closer to town."

Jack heard Ennis grunt in agreement, and watched as his wife turned her head to look up at him. Even with her face in shadow he could read the adoration in her expression.

"Thought of a nice girl's name. Jenny. If it's a boy you can choose, long as it's a J name."

To Jack's surprise, a baby's cry suddenly erupted from another room. This wasn't their first after all. Ennis had been busy, he thought morosely.

The woman moved away from Ennis, letting her hand smooth along his hip as she left, a caress Jack had never been permitted to give, and he felt a sharp sting of envy. Once alone, Ennis gripped the edge of the sink and let his shoulders slump, head bent, and Jack recalled the photo of President Kennedy leaning on his desk before a tall window during the autumn after that first Brokeback summer, when everyone thought the world was about to end. If Jack had been upright, he would not have been able to stop himself moving forward and pressing himself against Ennis' body, pulling him close.

The baby's cries gradually stuttered to silence. Ennis moved to another window and braced his left forearm above the pane, resting his forehead against it. The sight of Ennis' profile brought tightness to Jack's chest and he pressed his fingers to his mouth, longing to call out his name. Ennis' breath made a patch of steam on the glass; raising his other hand, he touched a finger to it and made some marks before turning, walking back to the bedroom and closing the door.

Jack remained huddled in the corner, but his emotions were jumping all over. He hoped Ennis was happy as a father, and that he was no longer living in this house, that he'd found something better. But god he missed him. Wanted him. Still. Yet even if he knew where to find Ennis, should he disturb him? Ennis had a family, and soon Jack would too. They'd had their chance, that day in Signal, but he'd turned back too late. He bet Ennis no longer even thought of him.

He rose from his crouch with effort, his limbs stiff with cold. Edging quietly past the kitchen table he approached the door to see what Ennis had gazed upon, just so he could share a view with him for the last time, propping his arm on the door exactly the way Ennis had. His breath made steam in the same spot and the letters Ennis had drawn reappeared in the vapor.

J A C K

All at once the kitchen was ablaze with light. "Jack! What're you doin in here?"

He whirled around in the suddenly humid air and there was Lureen in her silk dressing gown, hands on her hips, her head cocked quizzically.

"Whatsa matter, honey? Look like ya seen a ghost."

"Startled me is all," he said.

"Well, any neighbors awake're gonna love lookin at you buck naked in the window," she smirked.

"S'you givin 'em the show, long as you leave that light on," he retorted, grinning a beat too late.

"Well c'mon back to bed, Jack. And don't worry," she added, as she switched off the light and turned away, "it ain't a matin call this time so you can put yer drawers back on."

He turned back to the window and breathed on the pane, but it was too hot to steam the glass. He wondered which of them would find — had found — Ennis' jacket on the floor by the window. He was sure that if he tried he could locate Ennis. But for now he didn't want to risk losing the place in the world he'd found, even if it wasn't a perfect fit. And besides, he had some pride. Let Ennis tell him where he was.

In the meantime, he hoped Ennis' baby was a girl.


	19. Chapter 18

**Jack at 23 (1)**

_**September 1st, 1967**_

Jack paused in the doorway of the bedroom and watched his wife carefully trim her fingernails with tiny manicure scissors. Her pale nightgown clung to her skin in the places where the delicate fabric had wicked away moisture from her damp hair. Lureen didn't look up at their reflection in the mirror when he moved behind her and laid his hands on her narrow shoulders. He watched the pearly crescents drop one by one onto the vanity tabletop and turn nearly invisible against the marble surface. The last one sprang away from the blades to land on a folded square of some black silky underthing and he stared at it, transfixed — a sliver of moon in a starless sky. Somewhere, a lamb began to bleat for its mother.

Lureen closed her eyes, the dark circles under them like smudges against her milky skin, and lolled her head back against Jack. The scent of Tame wafted up from her scalp as she breathed out a long sigh.

"Oh Lord, not another night of teethin. I was sleepin on my feet all day."

Jack squeezed her shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles. "I should go sing to him," he said, deadpan.

In the mirror he saw one corner of Lureen's mouth lift in a smirk, her eyes still closed. "That'd distract him fer sure."

He slid his hands from their resting place and turned away to tend to his son.

By the time Jack reached the nursery room across the hall the baby's whimpers had become a howl, his mouth pulled back in a nearly toothless grimace, terrycloth sleep suit taut over his belly as his back arched away from the mattress. Standing next to the crib, Jack leaned over and inserted his little finger into his son's mouth, nail to tongue. Rosy lips closed around his flesh and he felt gums clamp down hard, a tiny nub of tooth working at his fingernail. Jack rubbed the fleshy pad of his finger against his son's upper gum, soothing the soreness where sharp enamel was cutting through the skin. The crying ceased as frantic biting eased into rhythmic sucking. Without removing his finger, Jack reached down with his other hand and tucked his index finger into the curl of the baby's hand; the tiny fingers clenched and held on. Though his back was complaining, Jack remained bent over his child, trying to wait until sleep was fully upon the infant before pulling away. He felt a crisp breeze brush his face and became aware of cold wetness under his bare feet. As the light dimmed, the last thing he saw was his son's lips come together, pacified, as the warm column of flesh vanished from between them.

July 21st, 1963  
He was standing in the dark. Cropped, dew-drenched grass pricked the soles of his feet; his little finger, still warm and wet from the baby's saliva, cooled in the chill mountain air. High in the black sky a thin crescent moon's cool shine was failing to ward off the emboldened stars that pressed near. He turned his head and just made out the dark planes of the pup tent a few paces away. Several yards beyond it, tethered to a pine, Cigar Butt stood motionless.

Jack shivered as the cold breeze brushed his naked body. Gazing at the sky, he knew which night this was. Somewhere down below he was lying on his side in the other tent, staring at this moon through the open flap and feeling sore and fucked over in every sense. It had been the last of five miserable days of untangling sheep. They knew the count would be wrong, the flock hosting strangers. Still nursing guilt for having ridden out a hailstorm secluded with the tender when he should have been herding, Ennis had taken out his frustration on Jack when he'd tried to lighten the mood with a lewd joke during supper. He'd thrown Jack down in the dirt and fucked him roughly, like the first time but sober and with intent. Then he'd ridden away to the sheep without even a backward glance.

But right now Jack looked at the tent and felt the years of longing and forgiving at his back. He stepped quickly to the entrance and crouched, knees cracking loudly in the silence. In the dark he could hear Ennis snoring softly. _Ennis._ Jack felt his body rock with a tidal surge as blood rushed to every extremity. Seconds later one of his other senses reported for duty as his nose registered the reek of the canvas and, when he lifted the scratchy blanket to slide in next to his long-lost lover, the pong of the man himself: sweat, whiskey, horse, leather, cigarettes, wood smoke, sheep and, yeah, shit. The few times he'd allowed himself to daydream about Ennis since they'd parted, he had recalled every detail of their coupling but how they smelled. Turning on his side and pressing his body against Ennis', he winced, his shoulder and hip reminding him of all the rough landings he'd suffered while bullriding. God, the ground was hard. How had they managed to sleep with so little padding night after night?

Before the sensory distractions could swamp Jack's ardor, Ennis shifted onto his back and muttered something. Jack pressed closer, nuzzling his nose into his hair, and snaked an arm across Ennis' chest. He was sleeping in all his clothes, his shirt and jacket greasy with lanolin.

"Jack?" Ennis' voice was thick with sleep. Jack raised himself up on one arm and brought his face next to the other man's, felt stubble scratch his cheek. The rasp of it sent a jolt through his heart; he lifted up, slid over and sank gratefully into Ennis' body. In the blackness his aim was true, lips meeting teeth and a warm thrusting tongue, forcing a stutter of moans from his throat as a charge pulsed through the length of his body. The stink, the dirty, rough clothing against his skin, the solid muscle and bone easily holding his weight eclipsed the two years of silk, fragrance and round softness that he had found a way to like. Ennis sucked him in and groaned, folding his arms around Jack, gliding rough palms down his naked back. Then Ennis was trying to speak, and Jack pulled his lips away just enough for Ennis to move his own.

"Why're ya here?" Ennis murmured.

"I miss you," Jack breathed into his mouth. "Missed you."

He felt warm hands slide down and caress his ass.

"I'm sorry." The words Jack had never heard Ennis utter that summer, whispered so softly he could barely make them out, flowed into him and coated his soul like a balm, soothing the bruises he had carried within for four years: the punch, the _see ya round_, the turned back.

"It's alright." He kissed Ennis again and stroked his jaw, nubby carpet under his fingers. A baby whimpered amongst the flock. "Where will you live after you're married, Ennis?"

"Riverton."

-

Jack found himself prone on his stomach, palms flat on the floor next to his head, his shirt and jeans in a bunch underneath him pressing painfully into his erection. The baby in the crib looming above him gave a short cry but didn't wake. He turned over onto his back with a groan, moved his hand down and began to stroke himself perfunctorily but it was no good, not what he needed.

He thought back on that next morning when Ennis had surprised him by coming down to camp early for breakfast and shown his contrition in small ways: praising the indifferent food, washing the dishes so Jack would not have to squat by the stream. He said he'd dreamt about Jack, and smirked, but Ennis' eyes had been serious as he held Jack's for a long moment. Before returning to the sheep, Ennis had come up behind Jack where he was standing before the fire and pulled him close, murmured in his ear something about horses and his mother, and hummed a nameless tune. Too soon Ennis had released him, mounted and ridden away to the high pasture. Jack had gazed after him as the setting crescent moon, barely visible against the milky morning sky, slipped behind the mountain.

_Riverton._


	20. Chapter 19

**Jack at 23 (2)**

**September 26, 1967 **

He was dreaming that he was singing and Ennis was tapping on a coffeepot, keeping time. His mouth was opening and closing but he heard nothing, only the sound of the clanking. Louder, sing louder! At last one sound forced its way out of his throat – UH! He jerked awake. Yellow, flickering light filled the tent. Ennis was deeply asleep next to him, lying on his side facing him, and Jack was on his back. In their ordinary lives these positions were reversed and always had been right up through the first night they ever slept side by side. Ennis' body radiated pulsing waves of heat and his arm was a comforting warm weight across Jack's chest. For four years he'd thought he'd never sleep on his back again.

Jack propped himself on his elbows. Flames outside were the source of the light. When Jack gently lifted aside his arm, Ennis mumbled groggily and rolled onto his other side. Jack sat up and pushed aside the tent flap. The campfire was blazing – hadn't they banked the embers before turning in? When he saw who had built up the fire, he grinned. When he'd last seen himself, he'd been given good advice but he couldn't tell if this was a past or future self. After the slightest pause, his other self smiled broadly and rose from the dead tree trunk that he and Ennis had rolled near the fire to serve as a bench.

Jack crawled out of the tent, glancing back to make sure Ennis was still asleep. He rose and as he walked toward the other Jack he scanned his face and body looking for clues. He saw right away that he was more than a few years older, though he was in good shape and had no gray in his hair. Just like that other time, the main difference was in his eyes.

When his other self sat down again, Jack did too. He asked where he was arriving from and when, and as he expected the answer was long in coming as the other weighed his words. He finally looked at Jack carefully through hooded eyes, smirked and said slowly, "Watching the magnificent seven in a best western." Jack stared at him, trying to will the words into making sense. A minute splinter of understanding lodged in the furthest recesses of his brain but he could not begin to tease it out. He thought for a long moment and decided to ask a far more important question, wondering if he would hear another riddle. Nodding toward the tent he said "Are we... still together?" The older man gave him another measuring gaze while a long silence ensued. Jack understood that whatever answer he received could close more doors than it opened so he waited patiently.

"Yes."

Jack pondered this reply. It seemed that any meeting between him and a past or future self would always be full of silences. Before he could say anything, this older self nudged his arm.

"Well, how bout it? Do I get a turn then?" he said, indicating the tent with his chin.

Jack frowned and turned to face him, puzzled. The older man cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. Jack flushed when he understood what he was asking. Then he remembered that the time he gave up tonight would be reimbursed to him later, maybe when he needed it even more than he did now. He stared at the ground between his feet, fighting back his resentment, then looked up.

"Alright," he muttered.

They stood in unison and his older self moved toward the tent. Jack remembered something.

"Wait," he said, just as the other was turning back to him as if about to speak. "Don't forget this." Jack bent to the bucket by the fire, pulled a washrag from the fire-warmed water, wrung it out and handed it to the other. Their fingers brushed together. His older self grinned and thanked him before turning away and moving toward his long awaited rendez-vous.

As Jack watched him kneel down and crawl into the tent he felt his throat tighten with jealousy. After so long apart from him he could hardly bear to share Ennis with anyone else, not even himself. Part of him hoped that Ennis would be too sleepy to respond to whatever he was planning to do with him. On the other hand, that wouldn't be a good sign, would it? And he would hate to be disappointed in the future. Shit, this was so fucking confusing! He would spare himself the torment and wait it out in the truck, he decided, and as he moved past the tent into the darkness he heard a long sigh. He smiled in spite of himself.

It was still dark when Jack awoke in the cab, propped against the passenger door and wrapped in the old blanket he always kept there. His stomach growled. In their haste to escape into the mountains they'd been disorganized about food and hadn't brought enough. Since breakfast they'd been living on a bag of apples, though they hadn't much cared what they ate. He looked out of the driver's side window toward the tent. The fire beyond it was no longer blazing high as before but its flames glowed through the canvas. His heart clenched when he saw the shadow of two joined forms undulating against the tent walls. He hoped his older self was simply reveling in a return to his youth and not slaking his thirst after a long dry spell. His body looked good but his eyes showed the years. He hoped he had managed to heal the deep wound Ennis bore and that they were living together. _You and Ennis, that's a life. _

When Jack awoke again he could barely see the tent. The fire had died and the moon was low in the sky, peeking through pine tops that attenuated its light. He stretched his aching muscles and climbed stiffly out of the cab, pulling the blanket around him. Only the sound of the rushing stream filled the night air. He stepped carefully over the cushion of needles covering the earth and padded toward the tent, stubbing his toe against a flashlight on the ground. He stooped and picked it up. Then he knelt at the entrance of the tent and switched on the light, shading the beam with his blanket. Ennis was asleep on his side, his hair tangled and sweat-damp, and his older self was asleep facing him, wrapped in his tight embrace, forehead pressed against Ennis' cheek. Jack watched them for a full minute, imprinting this image in his mind, a photograph he would never have. He would at least have this to feed on during the spaces between the every-once-in-a-while times. Spaces he hoped would shrink down to nothing someday.

When he tired of waiting for himself to wake up and relinquish his place in Ennis' arms, Jack reached out and traced his thumbnail down the sole of his foot. His leg jerked and he opened his eyes, stared at Jack for a few seconds and was gone. His arms suddenly empty and his head unsupported, Ennis tipped forward and startled awake. He looked confusedly around the tent and then saw his lover at the entrance. Jack watched as his face softened into a hazy smile. Ennis held out his arms and Jack crawled forward, letting the blanket slip off. He pulled Jack on top of him and tugged the top sleeping bag over them both.

"Mmm, you do that on purpose, go out and cool off so you'll wake me up?" Ennis drawled sleepily as he ran his warm arms and hands over Jack's chilled skin, squeezing and caressing his ass. Jack found Ennis' mouth and moaned, sucking on and winding his tongue around his lover's as he settled into his body. Every part of him was suffused with relief at possessing this man again, though no other had him in his absence. He was hard in seconds and could feel Ennis' stiffness rubbing against his own.

Something tickled his jaw and he put his hand to his face. He felt the familiar shape of the jay feather he kept in his truck as a talisman, a token of remembrance of the kind old man he'd met once, or maybe twice, years before. Jack twirled the feather between his fingers.

"How'd this get in here?" he asked. Ennis smoothed his hand up Jack's back to his shoulder then down his arm to his hand until he touched the feather. Ennis began to laugh, a low rumble emanating from his throat. Jack had never seen the ocean but his uncle had once and had described being flung up by a wave and tumbled in the surf, his face scraping the sandy shore. That story flashed through his mind as Ennis surged upward and dumped Jack onto his back, rolled onto his body and plunged his tongue into his mouth, raking his fingers through Jack's hair, abrading his face with his own. An older memory was trying to surface as well but before Jack could focus on it Ennis pulled his lips away and rubbed his cheek against Jack's.

"Yer some joker, Jack Fuckin' Twist," Ennis growled, his breath warm in Jack's ear. Then Jack felt Ennis' lips gently close around his earlobe and hold it for a few seconds before releasing it.

"Thank you," he whispered.


	21. Chapter 20

**Jack at 24**

**June 5, 1968**

Jack kept one eye on the point of light that lay miles ahead on the dark, blade-straight road and the other on the glowing radium dashes on his watch. He adjusted his truck's speed so that the minute hand's infinitesimal progress toward 12 matched the light's gradual growth from dot to glow. It was a game he often played on long drives to keep himself awake. The goal was to pass the oasis of light at the exact moment that the minute hand and the second hand pointed to 12. It would be 2 am; he should reach Childress by three o'clock.

At twenty seconds before the hour he could make out the sign. He'd driven this road in the past and suddenly remembered it was a shabby motel standing like a lonely sentinel on the endless stretch of blacktop. But now it was ablaze with lights and he saw why. Instead of plain neon MOTEL letters, the place now boasted a bright yellow sign topped with a crown: **Best Western**. _Holy Shit._ He braked and swung sharply into the small, nearly-deserted parking lot then practically sprinted to the entrance. As he was pushing open the door he noticed a sticker on the glass and it dawned on him that Best Western was a chain. He began to doubt: his future self had looked much older than twenty-four.

When he pushed open the door to the small reception area he saw that the young dark-haired woman sitting at the desk had her face buried in her hands, her splayed fingers making a perfect fan tipped with red varnish. She didn't look up as he approached the counter and he could see her shoulders were heaving. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, miss..." She raised her head and stared at him with huge, shimmering brown eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks. His own eyes widened in surprise. "I, uh.….wh.. what is it?" he stammered.

Her face crumpled and she choked out, "It's Bobby..." before covering her eyes again and breaking into sobs.

Jack felt a stab of fear shoot through him and his stomach lurched. He backed away, breathless, then turned and hurried back to his truck. He felt as though he'd been yanked back to the present, even though he hadn't left it. And for the next hour he didn't think once of Ennis Del Mar.

[Shortly before Jack walked into the motel, Robert F. Kennedy was shot in California.]


	22. Chapter 21

**Jack at 25**

**June 30, 1969**

The motel sign opposite the diner was flashing VACANCIES again this morning. When Jack had stopped here for a late dinner on the way back from Kansas the previous evening, the red neon NO was lit up as well. He'd driven this road before and stayed in that nothing-special motel. Now it was a Best Western. He'd taken a booth by the window and leafed through a local newspaper left behind while he waited for his food. As he was flipping past the TV schedule his eye had been caught by the title of the movie on CBS at 9:00. _Baby the Rain Must Fall_ starring Steve McQueen. The very moment he'd looked up and through the diner window at the motel the NO flickered off. A sign for sure. So he'd checked in, the desk clerk pleased to fill the canceled booking so quickly. He had been expecting nothing, just a night in, maybe jerking off to Steve McQueen. Which is why it had been so shocking to go from sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the television to seeing the fire and himself pacing in the twilight, waiting for Ennis.

Now he was back in that same booth looking out at the heat-blasted plain beyond the motel. LD had sent him on the road again but Jack didn't mind. Lately Lureen's mother had been hinting around that she would like another grandchild, preferably a girl, as if one could be served up like a plate of beans. Ennis had once told him that with the second baby the work more than doubled. Jack had passed this insight on to Lureen who agreed that she'd heard each additional kid increased the load "exponentially." Whatever that meant — sounded like big numbers, which she would know about. Not a single thing about the whole prospect appealed to him. As far as Jack was concerned, one was enough.

He turned back to the _Dallas Morning News_ as the waitress breezed past his booth, topping up his coffee by an inch with hardly a pause in her step. On the very bottom of page 10, in the left corner in the Other News box, he spotted the tiny, black headline. **NY Queers Riot**. The gulp of coffee burned his throat and he coughed while glancing around to see if anyone in the diner was watching him, as if they could tell which article he was reading. _Christ, am I turning into Ennis?_ He turned back to the paper, setting the heavy white mug down on the newsprint just above the two column inches, and bent his head close to the Formica top to read the paragraph.

Like putting his eye to a chink in a stone wall and seeing a world he'd never imagined existed.


	23. Chapter 22

**Jack at 26**

_**October 12, 1970 **_

"Tell me about Rich and Earl's ranch."

Jack thought he was daubing at that wound with care. They were lying sweaty and sated, snug in the two sleeping bags zipped together, listening to the crazy cry of a loon on the lake. The first time he'd heard that sound two years before, he'd sat bolt upright, swearing, and Ennis had laughed long and loud. The memory of Ennis' mirth had lulled him into thinking he could say any fool thing at that moment. But Ennis flinched as though Jack had applied whiskey to his cuts.

"You heard it all before. Nothin else to say. Things ain't changed that much here, don't know it ever will."

"But—"

Ennis turned on his side, raised up on his elbow and leaned over him. Jack could see the diffuse glow from the dying camp fire just outside the tent reflected in his eyes and feel his breath on his face.

"You think I'm so worried about my own life?" Ennis said low. "If anything happened to you..." He lay back down and was silent.

Jack could find no words. Long after Ennis had fallen asleep he lay awake, seething. He felt eaten up with hatred for Ennis' father. If he weren't already dead he'd go there and kill him with his bare hands. As he stared up into the blackness, his anger burned so intensely he saw stars.

Suddenly, he realized they really were stars. He felt cold air on his bare skin, the cozy nest gone. Grit and bits of gravel cut into his back. A thrumming, growling noise was getting louder and when lights glared on him he realized he was lying on a road. A surge of adrenalin propelled him upright and he leaped backward. Headlights veered away from him and into the air. The din was tremendous as the pickup hit the edge of the ditch and flipped end over end, bright beams sweeping the sky before blinking out. The sound of metal crunching and glass shattering and tinkling cut through the night air. Then silence.

Jack stood frozen in place, gasping SHIT! SHIT! and shaking uncontrollably. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground, staring into the darkness where the mangled truck lay. If it had hit him, would he have died here or next to Ennis? He imagined Ennis waking to find his battered body beside him…

He spotted a flame licking out from the hulk and made to rise but then saw he was kneeling before the embers of the campfire. A length of charred wood had caught fire in the slight breeze. Two empty brown beer bottles sitting on a log reflected the orange glow. _Shit, that's hard._

He pitched forward and vomited onto a fire stone.

When he finally crawled back to the tent, his teeth were chattering and his trembling hands fumbled with the zip on his side of the sleeping bags. He surged up against Ennis' warm back, cleaving to him, and Ennis stirred.

"Christ, Jack, how'd you get so cold?" he muttered and squeezed his arm. Jack shivered and buried his face in his hair.

"I'm so sorry, Ennis," he whispered.


	24. Chapter 23

**Jack at 27**

**May 16, 1971**

Jack swore loudly when he saw the sign above the highway flashing, warning of an accident miles ahead. Traffic was slowing already and he could see the beginning of a backup a mile away. Another sign a hundred or so yards further down gave him the excuse he needed to take the next exit. Lureen would be spitting nails if he didn't get back in time for work the next morning but he didn't care. The high from the week in the mountains with Ennis was fading and there was always a chance he might be able to relive it if he stopped now.

At the reception desk he asked to see a TV Guide. He paid no attention to the strange look the desk clerk gave him; he was so used to it now. _The Thomas Crown Affair_ was on at 10. He stood and drummed his fingers on the counter — did he want to do this? At last he looked up and said "OK, you got a single for tonight?"

The young man grinned in amusement. "Find what you want, then?"

"Not quite, but it'll do fer now," Jack replied as he snapped down the company credit card.

Once in the room he thought about calling Lureen right then and letting her know he'd be late but decided to wait until it really was too late to make it back to Childress. He set the alarm on his watch to 10, yawned and lay down on his side on the bed, flaring his nostrils to draw in the scent of wood smoke on his shirtsleeve. When they doused the last fire on the mountain he always made sure to stand in the smoke billowing up. If he managed to keep the shirt out of his wife's clutches when she swept through collecting laundry, the reminder would linger for a month.

His mouth was open slightly and he was drooling on the coverlet when the beeping of his watch finally penetrated his consciousness. He rolled onto his back and wondered if it was enough to simply be in the room at this time or did the movie have to be playing? He had eventually come to realize that the combination of Steve McQueen and a Best Western would send him somewhere. Once, during _The Sand Pebbles_ in a Best Western in Oklahoma, he'd found himself in the woods in the mountains staring at Joe Aguirre's back as he sat on his horse watching something through his binoculars. When his old boss lowered them after a minute and checked his watch, Jack had picked up a stone and flung it at his horse's rump, making it bolt. For a few moments he'd been treated to the sight of Aguirre bouncing around and swearing before finding himself back in the motel room, bent double with laughter. Another time, watching _Soldier in the Rain_, he'd turned up behind a tree near the campsite just as Ennis was stripping off his clothes to wash himself while just beyond him his younger self was peeling potatoes. He was thankful he had willed himself not to turn his head and stare at Ennis all those years ago because he would've seen himself, yelled in surprise, startled Ennis... Anyway, he'd not averted his gaze then, no.

Now if only he could turn on the TV without moving from the bed. He'd heard a gadget for that had been invented. With a groan he sat up, scooted to the edge of the mattress and reached over to switch on the television. The movie had started. After a few minutes he lay down again and propped his head on his hand, surprised he was still there. Thirty minutes into the film he was absorbed by the plot, so he was startled when the sound died and he found himself reclining on his old bed in Lightning Flat. It was hot and stuffy in the room. He rose from the bed, went to the window and propped it open with the stick that had always been there and he was sure always would be. He sat on the bench and looked out into the dusty yard and onto the road but saw no movement. From the light, the sounds and the smells he could tell it was summer, probably August. He looked around at his tidy room and guessed that he was not living at home. Listening closely he heard no one downstairs so he rose from the bench and went to the closet. The highest nail in the slot was empty. The other clothes gave few clues as to the time in his life. He took a wire hanger from the rod, fiddled with it until it was straight and began poking it into the space. It caught at something soft and he lifted and pulled out the burlap bag, which seemed smaller than he remembered. He brought it back to the bed, sat down and tipped out the contents onto the quilt. He fingered the playing card, worn soft and nearly gray, and licked the brown stone to see it gleam. He hadn't thought about Ace in years. _Stay please stay. _ If only Ennis...

Jack shook his head and turned his attention to the other tokens. The magazine page was still carefully folded. He opened it out and gazed at Steve McQueen's face for a long moment, remembering how this actor had reminded him of Ace even though he'd had only the briefest of glimpses of the ranch hand's features. He never had made it to Sheridan to see... to see... Jack scanned the article. _The Magnificent Seven_. He raised his head and stared unseeing out of the window. He got it now. The motel chain extended its reach while McQueen churned out films. At this rate someday he'd be able to leave the present every week if he felt like it.

Jack sighed and looked down at the bed. Where was the blue jay feather? The day after he graduated from high school he'd taken it from the bag for the last time, tied it to the mirror of the old black truck and left for Signal. He'd never returned it to hide with the rest. That meant he was away on Brokeback. But which summer?

Just then he felt a presence in the room and turned his head toward the door, fully expecting to see his mother. But there he was, naked and staring at him, looking roughly the same age. Before he could react his other self said, "The pancakes are good there." And then he was back on the motel bed.

He sat up, switched off the TV and picked up the phone to call Lureen and explain about the awful accident and the interminable delay, punctuating his story with extravagant yawns. She was satisfied with his promise to be back by noon.

That night he dreamt of the ocean he'd never seen and the waves he only knew from movies tossing him onto his back, sand scraping his face, salt in his mouth. In the morning he had breakfast in the restaurant and tried the pancakes. They were delicious.


	25. Chapter 24

**Jack at 29**

**January 23, 1973**

Jack fidgeted in the molded plastic chair in the waiting room and checked his watch again. The tutor he'd finally goaded Lureen into hiring for Bobby had suggested having him tested for something called "dyslexia," so here they were. He'd let Lureen go in alone to deal with the specialist so she could appear to be the concerned mother. Besides, it would force her to pay attention. But he had come along to make the point that he was the one who'd gotten them this far.

Someone had left that day's newspaper on the low table. The main photo on the front page showed a crowd of cheering women, one of whom held up a homemade sign with no words, just a drawing of a wire clothes hanger with a slash through it. The Supreme Court decision had been the main story on the news the night before. Lureen had been watching too and for once neither of them made a single comment. Usually they heckled the anchor and traded jokes about the news of the day; it was when they were at their best together. But he was sure she was thinking the same thing he was that evening: _What if…? _

They hadn't used anything that time in the back of her father's car. He'd never had to think about it before then. Except for that time at the rodeo in Wyoming... He'd been pretty dumb. Well, they both had been. He'd never seen or heard from that girl again. Suddenly he sat up straight, remembering. His pulse quickened as he stared at the newspaper and he saw his hand reaching for it. Flipping the pages past the news, he didn't need to search for the TV schedule. Somehow, he just knew what he would find. _The Thomas Crown Affair_ was on that night at nine.

After Bobby was in bed Jack made some excuse to Lureen and drove to the Best Western on Route 268. He booked a room and watched the movie on his feet, leaning against the wall, because he'd been standing when he'd seen himself. He recognized the point in the movie when he'd disappeared the first time. Fifteen more minutes went by and then suddenly there he was naked, standing in his old bedroom watching himself fiddling with the tokens on the bed. Jack saw himself turn and look to the doorway, watched his eyes widen in surprise. Remembering, he said quickly "The pancakes _are_ good there." And then he was alone in the room.

He went to the bed and gathered up the objects and replaced them in the bag. Then he opened the drawer of his desk, felt around inside and drew out a tiny gold horseshoe. Turning it in his fingers he thought back to that day. After the briefest pause, he dropped the horseshoe back in the drawer and shut it. If the earring was there but the shirts were not, it meant he was on Brokeback with Ennis.

He walked to the closet and used the straightened hanger to replace the bag deep into the slot. Then he torqued the wire around again and was about to hook it back on the rod next to his old clothes when he stopped, holding the hanger in mid air. He'd hung the shirts from their collars on a nail when he'd returned from Brokeback ten years before but when he came to see his folks after the last fishing trip they were hanging separately with his other clothes and he'd been distressed to see that they'd been laundered. It was as if his mother had given up on his dream before he had. He hesitated, wondering how the future could possibly be altered by what he wanted to do. Finally, he took the empty hanger and hooked it on the nail. Then he went to the desk and took from the drawer a scrap of paper and a pencil stub. He scrawled a note and dropped it on his bed.

_MA,_

_NEVER WASH THE SHIRTS._

_LOVE, JACK_


	26. Chapter 25

**Jack at 30**

_**August 8, 1974 **_

The evening sun was filtering golden through the leaves of the trees lining the dirt track as Jack's truck climbed to the last hairpin turn before the trailhead. A stand of young aspens separated him from Ennis and he could see his figure flashing through the row of slender white trunks as he paced back and forth. The horses were out and saddled. For once he'd managed to meet Ennis in the middle of summer, even if it was for just two days. The day LD told him to attend the trade show in Denver in his place, he'd sent a letter special delivery to Ennis proposing they meet to fish for a couple of days after the fair. To his amazement, Ennis immediately replied on a postcard sent inside an envelope, stamped first class, suggesting a site. Jack wondered how he managed to get time off on such short notice, but knew better than to ask.

Ennis didn't smile when Jack pulled up next to him, simply yanked open the door before he'd even cut the motor. He grabbed hold of Jack wordlessly and pulled him out of the cab, pushing him against the side of the pickup so hard his hat fell backwards into the truck bed. One elbow hooked around Jack's neck, fingers gripping the crown of his head, and the other arm curved around his back as Ennis pressed against his body, squeezing him tightly. Jack felt lips and teeth on his neck, sucking and biting, then Ennis' tongue swirling in his ear followed by whispered words he couldn't make out. Ennis' desperation startled him as did the smell and feel of sweat through their light shirts, the birdsong in the woods, the flickering of the green aspen leaves in the warm breeze. It had been years since he'd had Ennis in summer. When Ennis turned Jack's head and kissed him he at last got his bearings, opened his mouth to the warm, seeking tongue and moaned. Soon Ennis' hands were fumbling at Jack's buckle, then pushing down his jeans. Jack gaped at him in astonishment as he sank to his knees. In the seconds after crying "oh god Ennis!" as the hot mouth engulfed him, before his brain fuzzed out, Jack wondered what had been going on at home in Riverton lately.

By the time they rose with the sun the next morning the only practical thing they'd done was unsaddle the horses and erect the tent a few yards from the truck. After a cold breakfast washed down with the tepid coffee left in Jack's thermos, they packed the horses and headed for a higher elevation. Two hours later, the sun was high and hot. They came upon a level stretch at the top of a grassy slope that dropped steeply down to a rushing stream and decided to rest if not camp there. They were both weary and sore from the night's exertions, so they spread a horse blanket in the thick grass and lay down. As he felt sleep falling over him Jack tightened his arm around Ennis' waist and shunted the rest of his body to spoon closer. He noticed the scent of freshly cut hay that Ennis had brought up from the plains had grown stronger and his hair felt scratchy against his nose. When Ennis' body lost all solidity, Jack opened his eyes.

July 30, 1950  
_Shit! Godammit to hell!_ He shoved away the armful of hay he was embracing and rolled onto his back with a groan, hand over his eyes. Why now, when they had so little time together?

He brought his hand away from his brow and glanced around him. He was sprawled out in an unfamiliar hayloft. A horse huffed out a breath below him, and he became aware of the gentle sound of small shoes and hands tapping and grasping the wooden ladder rungs. Before he could think to hide himself, he spotted a mop of straw-colored hair rising slowly above the lip of the loft. A small boy's face appeared, his brown eyes peering at Jack's feet, then at his bare limbs — Jack could swear he felt the hairs on his legs being tickled as his gaze traveled along them. Quickly he scooped some hay into his lap and braced himself on his elbows to get a better look at the boy, who appeared to be about Bobby's age. Despite his worry about being discovered, he couldn't help smiling at the boy's sweetly serious expression as he stood still, staring at Jack with round eyes.

"You look like a little sunrise there, with your yellow hair," Jack said. When the boy said nothing, he added "Think maybe you could find some clothes for me t'wear, cowboy?"

Without a word, the boy sank below the loft floor and a few moments later Jack saw his head reappear. He climbed all the way up this time, stepped into the hay and handed Jack a blue cotton shirt. Then he dropped down onto one knee next to him. He folded that leg under him and brought the other knee to his chin, hugging his leg and watching intently as Jack put on the shirt and buttoned it.

"Perfect fit," Jack grinned, and swiped with a finger the boy's knee where the skin was showing through a hole in the worn denim. "I'll take good care of it, won't let anything happen to it while I'm here."

A strange expression flitted over the boy's face, and the next instant Jack heard a bell ringing from somewhere outside.

"Gotta go to lunch," the boy said as he rose to his feet. As he scrambled down the ladder he paused and popped his head back up. "I'll bring you some food," he whispered loudly. Then he was gone.

Jack lay back in the hay and closed his eyes, hoping that Ennis would still be asleep whenever he got back. He didn't want to give him a heart attack. From somewhere in the distance he heard Ennis' voice calling him. The inside of his eyelids suddenly turned red.

-

"Jaack!... Jaa-aack!"

Jack opened his eyes and and immediately shaded them with his hand; the sun was directly overhead. He was alone, his clothes underneath him, Ennis' shirt and hat discarded nearby. Ennis' voice came floating up from the bottom of the hill.

"I'm here!" Jack yelled. Some moments later he saw Ennis' bare head rising from the ground as he climbed the slope to where Jack was lying, sunlight shooting gold through his disheveled hair.

He walked over and stood above Jack, who squinted up at him, hand still shielding his eyes. A small smiled played around Ennis' mouth.

"Where ya been? Saw your clothes, thought you'd gone down there t'clean up. We need it bad enough," he added, smirking now.

"Nah. Just... went for a walk."

"Hmmm." Looking skeptical, Ennis dropped down on one knee next to Jack and showed him the wet bandanna in his hand. "Guess I'll hafta do it for you then," he said and wrung it out over Jack's chest.

"Hey!" Jack flinched at the cold water on his skin and tried to swat away his hands but Ennis, chuckling, grabbed his wrist and held on while he swiped the dark blue cloth over his chest and stomach. Jack relaxed under his ministrations and watched his face. When it was clear that Jack was not resisting this bath, Ennis released his hold and concentrated on his task, scrubbing downward, nudging him to spread his legs so he could gently wipe Jack's inner thighs. Jack's freed hand strayed to Ennis' knee and with his thumb he caressed the skin showing through the worn spot in his jeans, the few remaining white threads stretched across like a bald man's comb-over.

As Jack moved his thumb lazily back and forth, Ennis' hand slowed and his eyes lost their focus. His gaze traveled slowly up Jack's body from his thighs to his neck, then he lifted his eyes to Jack's and seemed to be looking through him. A memory of a tear-streaked face and anguished brown eyes flashed through Jack's mind. He gripped Ennis' knee.

"Ennis, did you ever..." At that moment Jack heard the faint clanking of a bell. Ennis came out of his trance and turned his face toward the sound, which was coming from way off in the distance. At the top of the slope rising up from the opposite side of the stream a river of sheep, one solid mass of dirty fleece, came into view. In the middle was a gray horse and a rider with a black hat.

Jack felt panic rise in him; his heart began hammering and his guts roiled with nausea. He mentally riffled through Ennis' every word of the last five minutes - which reality did they match? At the sound of a horse's tail swishing behind him he tipped his head back and felt relief flood through him at the sight of Ennis' own horses still tethered some yards away. Reaching up, he grabbed Ennis' shoulders and pulled him forward so that he toppled onto Jack's body.

"He won't see us if we're lying down," he murmured in his ear, wrapping his arms around him. "Relax. We're too far away."

He felt Ennis' body sink slowly into his own as the nervous tension leaked out of it. His head rested on the ground next to Jack's, every exhale tickling his ear. A cloud passed in front of the sun and Jack could look up at the sky without squinting. A crow flew past directly overhead along the axis of their bodies, and he heard the _fwoof... fwoof... fwoof_ of its wings in the quiet. The clank of the lead ewe's bell faded away and was gone.

"Did I ever what?" Ennis mumbled suddenly, his throat vibrating against Jack's shoulder.

"Did you have a secret hiding place when you were a kid?" It wasn't exactly the question he'd meant to ask, but now he wanted to know this.

Ennis was silent for so long that Jack wasn't sure he intended to answer. He traced swirls on his back with his fingernails, scratching, and Ennis sighed, rolling his shoulders.

"Higher."

Jack chuckled softly. Ennis' own fingernails were worked and bitten so short that he had to use his callused fingertips to give Jack that kind of relief.

"Only if you tell me where you used to hide from your daddy."

Jack felt the muscles between Ennis' shoulder blades bunch up. "Was KE I had to hide from, mostly. Hid in the stall of a horse that didn't like him. You?"

_Brown eye in a knot hole._

"Wasn't nowhere I could hide from my daddy. He grew up there and knew every secret place already." As he traced tight circles up and down Ennis' back with his nails he felt him shift slightly to fit his body more snugly into Jack's. "Had a little burlap bag fulla stuff that I hid in my bedroom closet. Hung it on a nail in a little space at the back. Bet he did the same thing when he was a kid cause that was the only spot in the whole damn place that a grown man couldn't fit his arm into."

"What kinda stuff?"

Jack opened his hands and began brushing down Ennis' spine in long sweeping strokes, palms taking turns smoothing down from the nape of his neck to the small of his back.

"Things I found that reminded me of times I'd been happy," he said.

Ennis was perfectly still on top of him. Jack felt his breath on his neck, his chest pressing into his own each time he inhaled. He stilled his hands, keeping his arms tight around him. The sun shed its veil and beamed down on them. He turned his head to the side, afraid to close his eyes against the glare lest he become unmoored again. Ennis' hand was next to Jack's face, and he rested his cheek against his palm, felt his thumb stroke his eyebrow as Ennis pressed his face tight into Jack's neck. He felt fixed in place by Ennis' weight, made secure in this time. If he had this every day, then maybe…

He tried to will into Ennis' caressing hand the words that could make that happen, to propel them through his arm and into his heart and out of his mouth. _I love you. I miss you. Live with me._

Ennis stirred and his head lifted; Jack's heart did the same. But Ennis just touched his lips to Jack's jaw, rolled off his body and lay down beside him. Jack sighed and closed his eyes, resigned. Then he felt Ennis' hand brush his and take it, lacing their fingers together.


	27. Chapter 26

**Jack at 31 (1)**

_**November 14, 1975 **_

As he walked down the hall toward his son's room Jack touched his left shirt pocket, feeling the folded postcard he'd tucked there. It was the third time Ennis had sent a postcard inside an envelope, and remembering what had resulted those other times, he grinned. He imagined arriving at Ennis' door — his door! — and tried out in his mind the various expressions of surprise and joy he might expect to see on Ennis' face when he opened it to find Jack there. They would fall into bed — a mattress! — and between rounds they could talk about their future. No need to load up the truck with camping equipment: he'd invented an emergency at Lightning Flat and told Lureen he had to go up to help out his parents.

He felt suffused with a euphoria that radiated out from him to embrace his wife and son. He'd had to will himself not to smile broadly when he told Lureen of his mother's illness, and felt real affection when he'd kissed her goodbye. She had told him Bobby was in bed with a slight fever, so Jack should make sure to see him before he left. Jack was already imagining Bobby visiting him and Ennis at their ranch, riding with them, basking in the attention of Ennis' girls. So no one could say he was abandoning his son.

As he neared the bedroom door he heard Bobby yell "Knocked his block off!" Jack frowned, his mind doubling back on itself, probing for a memory lurking on the edge of his consciousness. He heard giggling and the clashing of hard plastic from the other side of the door. He leaned his head against the doorframe.

"Bobby?" Silence, then a couple of muffled clunks and the sound of cotton swishing across floorboards. He turned the doorknob and pushed.

"Hey cowboy, you feelin better? You sure were makin a lotta noise just now."

Jack held open the door to Bobby's bedroom and saw his son was still in his pajamas, crouched on the floor before the Rock'Em Sock'Em robots that LD had given him two years before for his sixth birthday. "Teach 'im to fight like a man someday," his grandfather had intoned. Bobby had played the game with LD a few times that day and Jack hadn't seen him touch it since. It was a game for two, but his son had never asked him to go a round with him.

Bobby scrambled up and sprang onto the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest.

"I'm a _little_ better, but I think I need to rest some more. Where you goin, Daddy?" he demanded, staring at the keys in his father's hand.

Jack sat down on the edge of the bed facing his son, and pressed the back of his fingers to Bobby's forehead. "You still feel kinda hot. Did Mama give you some a those little pills?"

"Yeah Daddy. But where you goin?"

Jack braced his forearms on his knees and put on a grave expression. "My mama's sick so I gotta go up to Wyoming to help my folks." He looked at the robots on the floor and nudged the base with his toe. "Were you playing with those all by yourself? Seems like that ain't much fun."

Bobby stared at him, searching Jack's face. After a moment he mumbled, " I was playing with a friend."

Jack smiled. "Oh right, your imaginary friend. How's he doin these days?"

Bobby crossed his arms and frowned at the ceiling. "Well, I think he's a different one. His eyes are blue instead of brown and he's in first grade. He's funny — he didn't have any clothes on."

The memory that had been teasing Jack suddenly stepped forward and sucker punched him. He gasped and dropped to his knees to peer under the bed. Reaching out, he grasped the little mound of cloth and dragged it towards him. Smoothing the shirt with the jumping sheep over his thighs, he remembered when he found it in a souvenir shop in Jackson on the way back from a week with Ennis. He used to bring things back for Bobby — when had he stopped doing that?

All the other times this happened Jack had only seen himself or Ennis, even if he hadn't always known who it was while he was there. Maybe this had not been a dream whose details had faded. When had he gone the first time ? He didn't want to think about this, or examine his memories, afraid his mind would run in circles. He brought his hand to his heart and felt the postcard, smiled. _This_ was real, a dream come true.

He rose to his feet, ruffled Bobby's hair and left, heading north to his future.


	28. Chapter 27

**Jack at 31 (2)**

**November 16, 1975**

The sun was sitting on the horizon when he crossed the border and it glared at him through the passenger side window. He ached everywhere. The guy had been kind, had shared his cigarette afterwards, and found a way to make Jack understand this was a temporary measure for him, a way to save up some money to buy a good camera. Jack had almost asked him how many pesos he had in the coffee can.

There was no need to get back to Childress in a hurry but he didn't know where else to go. He was so tired, tired of driving. He played the game with his watch and a target up the road for a while. He passed a Best Western motel. An hour later another one. Much later his eyelids felt like they were made of lead, so when he saw the third one he let the truck drift off the road and into the parking lot.

Before he collapsed on the bed he looked through the Sunday TV guide he'd slid from the front desk. At four o'clock there was an old one from 1963 that he'd never even heard of and he stared at the title, incredulous: _Love With the Proper Stranger._ He didn't even want to think what that was about. If he didn't turn on the TV, would he stay put? He just wanted to sleep.

He dreamt he was sitting naked on the edge of Ennis' bed in the moonlight in the shabby house — the one he hadn't been invited to enter after searching for it for so long. Ennis couldn't sleep so Jack lay down behind him and held him close, humming to him and telling him not to worry, he would be back.

When he woke up sixteen hours later, he knew that was the truth.

The dream (written January 23, 2008):

_"You don't need those."_

_Night after night he had lain awake, unable to shut off the endless loop: a white pickup rolling past led by a black crow, Jack's smile dying and his truck backing out onto the road. His girls waiting patiently, waiting to spend the little time alotted to him, never enough. One pill didn't bring sleep so he'd taken another. Still no rest. Now he was groping for the little bottle to try again but another hand was there. Ennis opened one eye and saw Jack sitting on the edge of his sagging bed, his body gleaming silver in the full moon light flooding in through the window of the ramshackle house lost on the plain._

"You don't need those to sleep. I'll help you." Jack crawled behind Ennis and spooned against him. "Let me sing you to sleep," he murmured. "You sent me away, but I'll be back."

Ennis heard the humming in his ear and felt it vibrating against his shoulder as warmth spread over his back and through him.

He slept at last.


	29. Chapter 28

**Jack at 33**

**November 24, 1977**

Jack breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut behind LD and Fayette, and he saw Lureen's shoulders slump as she turned back to him. She raised her eyebrows and gave him a wry half-smile.

"Worst Thanksgivin ever," she sighed as she began to root through her handbag for her Virginia Slims. "Hope yer gonna survive Christmas next month." After she'd tapped out a cigarette and flicked her lighter she squinted at him through the smoke. "Well, least you n' Daddy manage t'agree on one thing—"

"'Lectric carving knives are for wimps," Jack finished. He sank onto the sofa and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. Lureen had no idea of the real reason he'd freaked out when she'd displayed to him the brand new electric knife in the kitchen that morning. During a sales trip in Denver in October he'd been drinking in the hotel bar when a girl (woman, she'd corrected him) had started flirting with him. Though his mind was on other things, he'd gamely returned the banter. After a few minutes she'd made a strange proposition. Would he come with her to see a French movie playing a few blocks away? He'd replied that he didn't know French and she said it didn't matter, it was subtitled. When she'd told him what it was called he looked at her blankly; it meant "the last woman" she'd explained. That sure fit his mood just then so he'd agreed to go with her, what the hell.

The theater was a tiny place, didn't even sell popcorn. Soon he learned that "subtitled" meant he had to read the damn movie but it hardly mattered. The guy's life was fucked up alright but to do that... Shit. And the gal'd had the nerve to laugh out loud. While stalking back to the hotel alone he'd told himself that at least he knew the source of his own unhappiness lay in a different organ.

He heard the newspaper rustling and then Lureen said "Hey Jack, guess what's on TV tonight. That western you've always wanted to see, _The Magnificent Seven_. You been goin on about that one for years."

Jack's eyelids snapped up and he stared at the ceiling for several seconds while he tried to adjust to the adrenalin suddenly surging through his body. His heart was hammering and he didn't dare look at Lureen. He closed his eyes again.

"What time? I'm so beat not sure I could stay awake even fer that," he croaked out.

"Ten. You got a few hours, why dontcha take a nap, then," she said as she refolded the paper. "I'm gonna take Bobby to Matt's house, he's been invited for a sleepover."

Jack sat up. "Lemme do that. I feel like gettin out, not sleepin," he said.

After he dropped Bobby, Jack headed out to 268 to make his second ever visit to the Best Western there. He pulled into the parking lot even though the sign was flashing NO VACANCIES. The desk clerk confirmed the motel was fully booked.

"Lotsa people in town to spend Thanksgiving with their relatives and the overflow folks stay here. There's a Holiday Inn two miles further on, you could check there."

"Ain't there any other Best Westerns round here?" Jack persisted.

The man smiled. "Always nice to meet a loyal customer. Well, there's a couple but they're both about twenty miles from Childress, both on Route sixty two, one north and one south. I can call 'em if you want."

Jack nodded and leaned against the counter while the man was on the phone. A laminated map of the US was hanging on the wall next to him and he traced the route to Wyoming with the tip of his key, counting the little crowns along the way. They just kept springing up, more and more to check every year. But he needed it bad tonight.

The man hung up and looked at Jack apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir, they're both full."

Jack scanned the map and began calculating how long it would take to drive to the one near Amarillo but then shook his head. He wasn't feeling the way he'd looked in the firelight that night ten years ago. That man's eyes had been like a ray of light from years away finally reaching its destination but right now he felt just... felt like a shooting star, lost and going nowhere.

When he arrived home, night had fallen and he could see Lureen through the kitchen window, cutting up the turkey carcass with the electric knife. He slipped around the side of the house, stood in the wet grass and watched the full moon rising. Then he stared at the stars in the black sky until every single one wore a halo.

A/N : the title of the film Jack saw was _La Dernière Femme_ and starred Gérard Depardieu. Look it up on to see what happened.


	30. Chapter 29

_**Jack at 35**_

_**March 28, 1979**_

Sprawled on the window seat in the den at the back of the house, Jack could see the clear night sky dense with stars, no street or house lights to compete with them. The room was dark and so was he; Lureen had walked right past the doorway without noticing he was there, still dressed all in black long after their return from the benefit dance. He had watched her platinum hair and white nightgown float down the hall like a ghost.

The moon was new, or maybe just on the other side of the house; at any rate, he couldn't see it. He was trying to locate the north star. There was the Big Dipper; over there, the little one. Was Polaris at the end of the big dipper's handle or on the pot side? Or was it part of the Little Dipper? The whiskey was not helping him to remember this one little thing that had been a constant growing up in Wyoming.

He replayed in his head the conversation, if you could call it that, with Randall Malone. _We oughta go down there some weekend._ Whiskey and fishing. Get away. That a stranger could speak fluently the private language he and Ennis had created over the years had stunned him speechless on that bench. But did it mean the same thing to Randall? Jack closed his eyes and rested his head against the window frame. If the guy's wife had been less... what was the word he'd used? lively? he would've been more sure of the signals but Jack thought any man married to Lashawn would be desperate to get away for a fishing weekend, with _anyone._

He heard the back door shut quietly and the sound of slow footsteps in the garden. When he opened his eyes he thought he must have fallen asleep because the sun was up. But he was naked and cool air was flowing in through the partly open window next to him. He knew immediately that he was in his room at Lightning Flat, sitting on the wooden bench with his head resting on the window frame. Down below he saw Ennis walking away from the house toward his truck, clutching a paper bag in both hands. He watched him pause and look toward the family graveyard. Then Ennis climbed into the cab, started the engine and pulled away. It didn't occur to Jack to lean out and call to him, or throw on clothes from his closet and run after him. He had seen Ennis' truck drive off so many times over the years, and the despair he had been feeling since returning from the dance was so familiar, that he observed his departure with detachment, as though he were watching a tv news report of a yet another earthquake or war on the other side of the planet. He couldn't even stir his mind to wonder why Ennis had come here. He'd find out someday anyway.

The bitch of it was, he couldn't tell whether he was in the past or the future. This room never changed, nor did the view from this window and above all, neither did Ennis. He had driven off in the same battered blue pickup, wearing his uniform of faded jeans, brown jacket and white hat. This could be last month or five years from now. Ennis was the one fixed, unchanging point in his life, the one Jack came back to again and again. The rising sun, the bleating lamb, the shining stone. No matter what he did or whom he spent time with, he eventually made the journey to Ennis, one way or another, for better or worse. He didn't know why he couldn't stop himself. It was just that way.

He heard the door open again and saw his mother walk out to the barn with a pan in her hand, bringing scraps for the dog. A minute later she re-emerged and paused in the doorway. She stood as straight as ever but was too far away for him to tell if her faced had aged. He saw her look up to his window and he automatically put his palm to the glass in greeting. With no change of expression or posture she lifted her hand. Night fell suddenly and he was touching the window of his own house.

He left his clothes and empty glass where they'd fallen and moved across the room to stretch out on the sofa, pulling the knitted blanket from the back of it and spreading it over his body. Had he had an epiphany back there? _Epiphany: a sudden and important realization._ He had just learned that word at the spelling bee he'd attended at Bobby's school last week, at first thinking it was one of those weird names people were giving their baby daughters these days. He'd almost missed Bobby's one and only turn, thinking about that word, and that one that meant _confidently optimistic_. Realized that an epiphany is what he'd been waiting for Ennis to have for the past 16 years, and that now he had no confidence or optimism that it would ever happen. Best to get the little he could from him, even if it was never as much as he needed, and find solace where it was available the rest of the time.

Soon enough, he would learn whether he and Randall Malone spoke the same language.


	31. Chapter 30

**Jack at 36**

_**November 7, 1980 **_

Dark clouds were boiling up in the southern sky ahead of him so Jack turned on the radio to find a weather report. The news on every station was about the newly-elected president but Jack barely listened. LD had been furious to learn he would be away in Wyoming on Election Day. Jack had pointed out that his one vote in Texas wouldn't make a damn bit of difference, considering how far ahead Reagan was in the polls in the state. Not sure how he would've voted even if he'd been around. Well, now the country was stuck with Reagan with his cowboy act and salesman smile. Like his own. As if he himself wasn't putting on an act fifty weeks a year.

This trip to see Ennis had been worse than bad, it had been weird. It had started out the usual way, Ennis opening the door of Jack's truck as soon as he pulled up, grabbing Jack's arm and hauling him out of the cab. Then they'd shared reunion duties efficiently, Ennis taking charge of the kiss, both hands gripping Jack's' head to hold their devouring mouths together while Jack deftly unbuckled both their belts at once. Within a minute they were crying out, coming in each other's hands.

From then on their passion had been out of synch, neither ever ready to be tender when the other wanted it. When Jack had proposed, yet again, an alternate route to the rut Ennis was carving for them, Ennis snapped at him, as usual. They had argued about stupid things, and ridden joylessly. Yesterday, while taking a last tour of the mountain, the horses had shied at a sound like soldiers fighting with wooden swords so they'd left them tied to a fir and crept to the edge of the woods. In a clearing of high dry grass two stag elk were in combat, great racks clashing. Equal in size, neither could manage to push the other back and they were exhausted, gasping out white steam in the chill air. Ennis pressed up so close behind Jack that he could feel his exhales on his neck. The massive beasts stood leaning into each other for a minute and Jack realized their antlers were hooked together. When Ennis stepped away to stand beside Jack one elk caught the movement and panicked, rearing away. There was a mighty crack as two points broke off and, freed, the stags fled in opposite directions.

Last night they'd fucked furiously, clutching, raking and biting, but Jack's fury was real. He knew Ennis had been aroused by the stag fight, yet couldn't he see _all_ the ways in which they were alike?

A name burst out of the radio, flaring into his dark thoughts. "... died of a heart attack in Juarez, Mexico this morning with his wife at his bedside. McQueen was fifty years old." Jack didn't hear the rest. He let the truck coast to the shoulder, cut the engine and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. Fat drops of rain began smacking the windshield and he could feel the truck rock as 18-wheelers roared past.

A page torn from a movie magazine, folded carefully and hidden in a slot in his closet: "I had to learn to look out for myself when I was a kid. I had no one to talk to. I was all alone. It taught me to be self-reliant." A poster outside the movie theater in Childress, riveting him to the sidewalk, pregnant wife tugging at his arm: until that moment he had believed he was actually succeeding in making it work with Lureen the way it was supposed to. Juarez. He couldn't bear the thought that he had died in that town, of all places.

_Y así pasan los días  
Y yo, desesperando  
Y tú, tú contestando  
Quizás, quizás, quizás_

The plaintive Spanish song filled his ears. "NO!" he shouted, gripping the steering wheel. He couldn't go back there, he would witness nothing good. He jerked his head up. The music was pouring out of the radio and he was in his truck, where he'd stopped it.

Rain drummed down in a deluge, hiding everything beyond his truck behind a curtain of water, drowning out his sobs.

The words of the Spanish song:

_I am always asking you  
When, how and where  
You always tell me  
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps_

The days pass this way  
And I am despairing  
And you, you always answer  
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

You are wasting time  
Thinking, thinking  
That which you want most  
Until when? Until when?


	32. Chapter 31

**Jack at 38**

**December 12, 1982 **

As Jack pulled into the parking lot of the Best Western hotel he tried to stay calm. He'd visited dozens of motels belonging to this chain since 1967, never with the consequences he'd hoped for. Why should today be different? For one thing, he was running out of time.

One month earlier Lureen had told him she'd booked him a hotel near Albuquerque for the trade show this week. "A Best Western a course, since you seem to prefer 'em. You'll be there three nights." That evening he'd studied himself in the full-length mirror in their bedroom and realized he no longer resembled the man he'd seen by the fire in 1967. Out of shape. Gray hairs at the temples. A mustache. He wondered uneasily if he'd messed up somewhere, had unwittingly thwarted himself and missed his chance.

The next day he'd bought a set of dumbbells and begun lifting weights in the den before and after work. He ate less and made himself stop hitting the whiskey. It wasn't as hard as he'd expected now that he had a goal. He bought some Grecian Formula and every morning combed it into the parts of his hair that were touched with gray, thankful his hair was so dark since this stuff came in only one color, black.

He walked into the hotel lobby and scanned the low tables for a local paper. Found the TV guide for the week and held his breath as he flipped to that day's schedule. Yessss! A Steve McQueen film festival that week. Tonight at nine o'clock: _The Magnificent Seven_. Two hours to go. He threw down the paper and quickly checked in.

First order of business, his mustache. After tonight he should be able to throw out the disposable razor he kept in the glove compartment. He'd brought along his best retractable for this occasion, however. It took longer to shave it off than he'd expected and his upper lip looked pale and raw next to his stubble. Should he shave the rest of his face? He tried to remember. No, they hadn't shaved at all during that trip. Ennis would notice if he came to him with a smooth jaw.

He took a shower and washed his hair. Even if it didn't dry before he left, the water wouldn't follow him there. He was about to brush his teeth when he paused, trying to remember if they had done that. Yes. Only Ennis had brought a toothbrush, though, and they'd shared it, but without toothpaste. He scraped the Crest off the brush and rinsed it.

By film time he was jittery. He'd waited so long for this. He took off all his clothes, folded them and put them away. Then he removed his wedding band and placed it on the bedside table next to his watch. It was strange to actually prepare to leave. Every other time he'd had to scramble around looking for his ring when he got back.

He watched some commercials sitting on the edge of the bed, then decided he might as well get comfortable since he had no idea at which point during the film he would leave. He piled the pillows against the headboard and sat back against them. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. When he found the right channel, the opening credits were starting.

-

He was sitting with his back against a log in the pine-scented night air, staring at the glowing embers of the camp fire. Close by, the _raaaffing raaaffing raaaffing_ of water surging against stones drowned out all other sound. The half moon cast just enough light for him to make out the rough outlines of his surroundings. He got to his feet and looked beyond the fire circle to the tent that he remembered buying in a hurry before he and Ennis left Riverton. No light or sound came from it. Standing with his hands on his hips he thought back to that night, trying to remember. When he'd opened the flap and looked out he'd seen himself sitting on a dead tree trunk in front of a blazing fire. When he returned to the tent later the fire had died. Well, he'd better stir those embers and get it going. There were only a few sticks of firewood nearby so he'd have to collect some more. He saw his old truck glinting in the moonlight about thirty yards beyond the tent and remembered that he always used to keep a flashlight in the glove compartment so he picked his way over to it. He reached in the open passenger side window and rummaged among the papers. Something delicate brushed against his fingers and he closed his hand on it. It was the blue jay feather he'd found as a kid, the only thing besides clothes that he'd taken away from Lightening Flat. It had disappeared after this trip.

He brushed the blue feather across his jaw and the whispering rasp sent his thoughts to the sex game that Ennis had initiated years before. The next time they'd gotten together, in 1968, Ennis had found a hawk feather while they were out riding. That night he'd teased Jack with it, stroking all over his body. But Jack was too ticklish; the sensation distracted him. When he'd turned it on Ennis, though, he'd gone wild. As Jack had trailed it along his crack, Ennis had astonished him by reaching back, grabbing his fingers and muttering, "Put them in." And they had progressed from there. But like all games, this one had rules and Ennis set them. If Ennis found a feather on the ground and gave it to Jack, he was offering him his ass. It rarely happened more than once during a sojourn in the mountains. Early on, Jack had misunderstood the rules and brought a feather to their meeting. Ennis had ignored it, feigning ignorance of its import. Jack was sure he saw more feathers than he picked up.

He speared the feather through the hair above his ear and with the aid of the flashlight he gathered an armful of wood from underneath the trees near where the truck was parked so as not to make noise and wake himself up too soon. He quickly had the fire blazing away. Then he sat down on the fallen trunk and waited. His body was soon quite warm. After several minutes there was still no movement from the tent and he began to lose patience. He tried to remember what had woken him up that night. It was a sound, he thought, the sharp clang of metal. He looked about and saw the pail of water near the fire. He reached for a stick and tapped it gently. After a minute he hit it again, harder, several times. There was a rustling and then Jack saw him push back the flap, look out and grin when he caught sight of Jack. Jack breathed in sharply, stunned by what he saw: his younger self glowing with happiness and unvanquished hope. He didn't mean to do it, but he couldn't help himself: he stood and smiled.

This youth crawled carefully out of the tent, rose to his feet and approached Jack, eyes skimming over his face and body. A wave of embarrassment washed over Jack as he withstood this scrutiny of himself by himself in his prime. He tried to remember what he'd thought back then, seeing himself. Old, that was what. _I'm not even forty._ But in good shape, too, he recalled thinking.. He sat back down and patted the space on the log next to him; the young Jack Twist walked over to sit beside him.

"When're you comin from? What were you doin?" he asked Jack. His voice sounded so different it was like meeting a stranger. And suddenly, this man was just that, a stranger – one who had spoiled his life. Why had he been so acquiescent before Ennis' rules? Why hadn't he pushed harder? He turned his face away and stared at the fire, feeling a perverse resentment toward his young, hopeful self invading his heart. All those years wasted waiting for Ennis to give him what he wanted. Why on earth had he thought that time alone would sway the man? All at once, he felt like punishing this naive young man. He smiled, lifting his chin and looking at him through half-closed eyes.

"Watching... The Magnificent Seven... in a Best Western," he enunciated slowly.

Young Jack stared at him, and Jack remembered being puzzled by this information that was so precise but had seemed enigmatic then. Now he watched him struggling to formulate the second question and for a moment Jack wondered if he should really go ahead and give the answer he remembered hearing. He was beginning to feel sorry for his younger self as he recalled the obsession with that ever-expanding motel chain that had absorbed so much of his time on the road. If he spoke another word instead of the one that was meant to pass his lips, would he be living a happier life now? Could he have moved on years ago?

Jack watched his young face as he asked the question and remembered how he'd felt then, so hopeful, confident of his healing powers. He couldn't bear to see that light leave his eyes.

"Yes," he said.

He watched himself mulling over this prospect. Now he was impatient, he hadn't come here to chat about the future – it was Ennis he wanted. He made his request and almost laughed when he remembered how indignant he'd felt at the suggestion that he give over part of this last night with his lover. He waited patiently to hear the answer he knew would come, despite the boy's jealousy, and when he heard it he stood up. He turned away without a word to take his due and then remembered.

"Wait," he heard that young voice say, just as he turned to look at him. "Don't forget this." Jack took the washrag and smiled his thanks. Then he tossed more wood on the fire.

Jack knelt down at the entrance and sucked in his breath at the sight of Ennis' sleeping form glowing golden in the firelight. He was turned on his side facing away, the top sleeping bag pushed down to his hips. Jack dropped onto his hands and crawled forward, his eyes feasting on the details that had faded in his memory over the years: the soft, tousled hair, the smooth face, the unscarred hands. During all the years of chasing after and anticipating this moment, he had assumed that he would be meeting Ennis as an equal. But Ennis was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Jack eased down next to him with a sigh, felt Ennis' body heat radiating out to him. Now that he was finally here, he felt strangely intimidated. He put his hand on Ennis' forearm, smoothed it up to his shoulder then bumped it down his ribs to his hip. Ennis remained deeply asleep so Jack glided his fingers along his chest and belly, noting the differences. To anyone else, Ennis clothed looked unchanged from his youth, but Jack's hands knew otherwise. Under this skin, these muscles told of hard work outdoors but also regular cooked meals, central heating and childrens' embraces. The Ennis he had last lain with was all sinew, solitude, toil and canned beans eaten from a pot.

Jack stopped his hand and rested his forehead on Ennis' shoulder, recalling his own young face emerging from this tent. There was no way he could let Ennis look at him; he hadn't thought about the missing joy. When he lifted his head again, the blue jay feather fell from his hair onto Ennis' arm. Jack picked it up and examined it. Then, leaning over him, he touched it to Ennis' chest, flicking it over his sensitive nipples. He let it tickle down his belly to his thighs and Ennis stirred. When Jack brushed it over his cock he saw it twitch – he heard and felt Ennis gasp. Ennis whispered his name and pushed back as if to roll over to face him but Jack resisted. He curled his arm around Ennis and flicked and tickled his nipples and under his chin as he nuzzled his nose into his hair while his tongue probed his ear.

"Jesus, Jack!" Ennis whispered as he began to writhe under the maddening touches.

"I _know _you don't want me to stop," Jack chuckled low into his ear. "Know you love this." He let the feather swirl across his shoulders and back down over his ribs so that Ennis wriggled and whimpered. Jack was thankful he'd been working out with the weights because Ennis was struggling mightily to turn over but he was able to use his extra strength to keep him in place. He stroked the blue feather over his thighs then let it draw a fine line up the underside of his now-curving cock. Ennis swore and muttered, bucking his hips back against Jack, who was also getting hard listening to his aroused young lover. He whispered the feather over his hip bones and around to Ennis' ass, drawing back to allow space. He brushed the long edge of the plume between his cheeks and up his back, then retraced the path with the tip, delicately painting his spine all the way down to his crack. Ennis hissed. "Ah ssshhiit... Jaaack."

Jack pushed Ennis' thigh forward and tilted his hip to give the feather access while pressing his chest against his shoulder, pinning him. He glided the feather along Ennis' crack, skimming across his hole and then back before twirling the tip over the sensitive puckered skin. Ennis was moaning and squirming, swearing at Jack who knew he didn't really want to escape. Jack bent his head to lick and suck Ennis' neck, tasting the salty skin, while continuing to work the feather. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a hint of red and green. He almost laughed out loud when he spied the square metal tin. _Christ, Bag Balm!_ He recalled how Ennis had retrieved it from his own truck with studied casualness before they left Riverton. Jack dropped the feather in order to reach over, flip off the lid and plunge his fingers into the salve. He quickly coated himself and then ran his finger between Ennis' buttocks.

"What're ya doin?" Ennis growled. Jack was braced on his right forearm as he caressed Ennis' ass. He leaned close to his head and kissed the skin next to Ennis' ear. With his tongue he lifted his ear lobe and sucked it in, then held it gently between his teeth before pulling slowly away, just grazing the flesh. Jack whispered, "Don't worry, I won't hurt _you_." He hadn't meant to stress that last word, wasn't even thinking it, but he heard it come out that way. Ennis stopped moving and even breathing.

Jack was desperate to be inside Ennis, to fuck this golden youth he'd driven all over the western states for fifteen years to find again. But he needed to make Ennis want this, want it more than anything. One by one he unveiled every trick he'd learned over time, stroked and probed with his fingers, tongue, cock, toes on every expanse or tiny patch of flesh – soft, wet, smooth or hard – where such touches had ever elicited a sound from Ennis' throat.

"Jack... Jack... let me...I..." Ennis writhed and moaned, trying to turn to face him but Jack wouldn't give way. Ennis finally grasped Jack's roaming hand, dragged it up to his face and sucked the tips of two fingers into his mouth, fingers that had been everywhere on his body and it was that thought as much as the wet velvet feel of it that sent a thunderbolt through Jack.

"You want it? Now do you?" he breathed into his ear. A tiny pause and he felt Ennis' head jerk up and then down.

Jack slipped his wet fingers from Ennis' mouth and glided his hand down his throat and over his chest and belly then around to his ass, smoothing a circle on one cheek. He pulled his hand back a few inches to swirl his own slick then eased one finger in. Jack felt him clench. "I promised you. Try to relax." A second finger joined the first and Jack prised him open, pushing deeper. Ennis let out a low grunt. Jack slipped a third finger inside Ennis and probed deeper still until he felt him twitch and groan, "God... Jack!" Jack was panting now, trying to control himself. He withdrew his fingers to stroke himself and then shifted so he could begin to breach Ennis. Jack felt a tremor move through Ennis' body and he paused. "Push back against me," he whispered urgently, "you control this. I'm waiting for you. You know I..."

With a long exhale Ennis pushed his hips back and Jack braced hard to let him slowly impale himself, all the while struggling to keep from thrusting wildly. He groaned at the heat and friction of Ennis' muscle inching its way down him, sliding and squeezing. He always craved this connection. He fixed his gaze on the back of Ennis' neck, on the still-soft skin and the messy wheaten hair glinting in the gradually dimming firelight. Ennis moaned as he let Jack all the way in and that was Jack's cue to start pumping slowly, one hand gripping Ennis' hip, then picking up the pace as he saw the younger man fist the sleeping bag under them to hold on, to push back harder. His own pleasure ramping higher as he stoked the rythm, heart thudding through his ribcage into the solid back of Ennis he was sure that he could feel it. Wanted this for oh so long all the driving all the searching waiting waiting _Ennis! Ennis!_ Ennis clamped his hand around his wrist pulled it down let him grasp him and then stroke stroke stroke slippery sliding making it good did you miss me I KNOW you did I remember that you did you did but do you now but do you now but do you now do you now Do. You. NOW!... Shoved his forehead into Ennis' shoulder and pulsed, pulsed into him aaahhh AAHH! as Ennis shouted shooting sharp and shimmering through Jack's shuttling fist.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Collapsed on top of Ennis Jack rested his sweat-damp face on his neck and listened to his lover's breath whistling in and out of his lungs as the darkness crept back into the tent. After a minute he rolled off and away, slipping out. He felt something damp near his fingers and closed them on the washrag, cooled but not cold. He clenched it in his hand for a moment to warm it, then tenderly wiped Ennis' skin with it before cleaning himself off and tossing the rag to the edge of the tent. Ennis moved at last, rolling and shifting until he was facing Jack, whose face was in shadow now. Ennis gathered Jack in his arms, pulling the top sleeping bag around them, and kissed him long and lingeringly on the lips. Jack knew Ennis was beyond speech and felt him drift into sleep but he resisted following him there. He wanted to savor this, the feel of his lover's youthful skin on his own, his pliant muscles, strong arms holding him tightly even while unconscious. The fire slowly burned down and eventually it was completely dark in the tent. Jack heard footsteps outside and a light thump on the ground. He pressed his face closer to Ennis' and shut his eyes when he sensed a presence before the tent opening. A flashlight clicked and he knew he was watching them. The sight was still burned in his mind – Ennis never had agreed to photographs. _Don't open your eyes._ He knew the tickle would come and tried to prepare for it, but anticipation made it worse; he jerked his foot the second he felt the fingernail trace along his arch and his eyes flew open.

-

He was lying on his side on the satiny bedspread in the middle of the mattress, staring at the TV test pattern, crash-landed. After a moment he slid his hand above his head, grasped a pillow and pulled it to his chest, trying to retain the warmth Ennis had left there. He missed that Ennis so much. He thought back to that night fifteen years before when he'd taken back his rightful place, how Ennis had laughed about the feather, rolled him over and nibbled his ear, whispered his thanks. At last he knew why. _He_ had started the business with the feather, not Ennis. All these years he'd thought Ennis was calling the shots, always. That night Ennis had handed Jack the reins. Every feather offered had been an invitation: _Lead me_. But Jack had not known, so had not led.

He rolled onto his back, still hugging the pillow, and stared at the ceiling. A black hole of regret was growing inside him, sucking in the last particles of hope he'd been hoarding. Was it too late for them to change direction? The next time they were together, in the spring, he would stop tiptoeing around and speak some truth to Ennis, tell him just how much he missed him when they were apart. Ennis' response would show him which road to take, and how fast.


	33. Chapter 32

**Jack at 39**

_**August 15, 1983 **_

Jack lay on his back in the dark, listening to the intermittent splashes of fish on the surface of the lake. Through the skylight in the cabin's roof he could see a perfect half moon but couldn't recall if it was waxing or waning. Randall's soft snores were gradually increasing in volume as his mouth went slack with deepening sleep. At the apex of an inhale Jack jounced the mattress with his hips; Randall snorted, closed his mouth and resumed normal breathing through his nose.

Jack was starting to have doubts about this idea to move to Lightning Flat with Randall. When he had voiced the notion at his parents' house in April, he'd done so mainly to make real to himself his vow to quit Ennis. It was a mistake, because his father had seized this news and milked it for every drop of venom.

"So yer sayin now I'll _never_ get to meet this Ennis Del Mar? Every time you called to say you were gonna visit I'd say to yer Ma, wonder if _this _time he's gonna bring Ennis Del Mar and whip this ranch into shape. Tell you what, hate ta hafta learn a new name after all these years. What's this ranch foreman called again?"

That night he'd sat in the dark on his old bed for an hour, hoping for an apparition from his future to point the way but not even the moon made an appearance. For the first time he did not indulge in his ritual fingering of the mementos from the summer of 1963. He left at dawn, silently hugging his mother goodbye. She had risen to see him off but didn't press food on him for once and spoke only to tell him to drive safely.

After his return to Childress, he had tried to get back into his well-worn groove of drinking, working and fucking Randall. He had little appetite for food and lost most of his paunch. But November wouldn't line up quietly behind the other months, kept thinking it was so goddamn special. He needed to smother it with another plan so had broached the subject of Lightning Flat with Randall in July, just to gauge his reaction. To his alarm, it was a wildly enthusiastic one. Jack realized his life with Lashawn must be even more unbearable than he had supposed. Randall wanted to know everything about the state of the ranch, facts and figures, dates and details. Overnight, laconic Randall had turned into a relative chatterbox, making it clear to Jack just to what extent the man had been a substitute for Ennis.

If Ennis remained true to form, he would send Jack a postcard in October proposing a November meeting date, as if nothing had happened in April. They had argued before, and it had never made a difference. Ennis had blasted at him wildly but Jack couldn't forget the words that lodged in his heart like buckshot: "It's because of you I'm like this." Whatever Ennis had meant, Jack knew now that he was more right than he could ever know. He'd said he couldn't take it anymore. If he let Ennis be, in the present, would he cause no more damage in the past? He would go to Lightning Flat in September, alone, and talk to his parents about the ranch, show his father he was serious this time. And he would mail the shirts to Ennis, wrapped around a postcard saying goodbye.

Randall's breathing signaled the start of another round of snores. Jack closed his eyes and waited for right moment to jiggle the bed. But instead his breath began to sound ragged and Jack noticed the mattress had firmed up considerably.

November 7th, 2002  
He opened his eyes. The room was bright, and hovering right above his face was a man's hand. Jack was lying on the floor next to a bed, and its occupant's arm was hanging over the side, a plastic band encircling his wrist.

His eyes focused on the type on the bracelet. DEL MAR ENNIS.

He scrambled to his feet and stared at the gaunt man asleep in the hospital bed, a plastic oxygen tube disappearing into one nostril. How could this be Ennis? Jack bent and peered at the ID bracelet. This was the hospital in Jackson. He stared at the man's face, searching for traces of his friend in the features.

Jack heard footsteps outside the door. In three strides he was at the side of the unoccupied bed on the other side of the room, lifting the sheet and diving under it as the door opened. Someone entered, shutting the door quietly behind them, gently slid the curtain separating the beds and dragged a chair a couple of feet.

After a few moments of silence, a woman's voice said softly, "Hey, Daddy."

Jack could not hear an answering voice, but Ennis must have replied in some way because the woman spoke again.

"I brought what you asked for." He heard the rustle of a paper bag as something was drawn out of it. "You want me to lay them on you?" He couldn't make out the whispered answer.

There was silence for a minute.

"Daddy, I found a shoebox fulla postcards," the woman said, "and I hafta tell you somethin. I know who Jack is."

Jack stopped breathing, straining to hear the slightest sound from the other bed.

"Sshh. It's ok Daddy, it's alright." He heard her shift in her chair, inching it closer to the bed. "Mama told me about Jack Twist a long time ago, the night before my weddin.

"She said— look at me Daddy. Look at me, open your eyes. She told me the whole story the night before I got married and was I different with you the next day? Didn't I dance with you, Daddy? Didn't I hold your hand, hug and kiss you a hundred times? "

Hot tears pooled in Jack's ears and snot streamed onto his lip as he trembled with the effort to remain silent.

"Yeah, Daddy, when Mama told me, I knew then that he wasn't in your life anymore, cause back when we used to hear his name you were cheerful sometimes. But after I graduated high school you never mentioned him, and you never laughed ever, and bout then's when you started drinkin so much. But I never knew why... till I found the postcards and read the last one. And when you asked for these, well..."

Jack's mind became a whir of milestone and birth dates, calendar pages flipping like in a movie. He must have sent the shirts with a postcard like he'd just been contemplating. He heard a wheezing sob from the bed, and the _shoosh_ of a tissue being pulled from a box, but the woman's voice was strong and clear.

"Daddy, did you love him?" A small sound came from Ennis' bed. "Say it then, Daddy. Say the words so God can hear and tell Jack, wherever he is."

Jack's squeezed his eyes shut, mouth open and stretched wide in a grimace, his throat spasming in mute keening.

Like a rusty door creaking open, Ennis' hoarse voice hitched through his weeping. "Yeah... I… loved him."

He prayed for Ennis' daughter to leave, just leave. He didn't listen to the rest of their words, couldn't hear them for the blood roaring in his ears. When the door clicked shut at last, he jack-knifed onto his side, bunched the coarse sheet to his face and released a wail. From the other bed he heard answering gasps. As abruptly as they came, his tears stopped: it didn't have to be like this, not always like this. Unlike the other times he had gone to his future, he had truth to bring back.

He blew his nose on the sheet, wiped his eyes and ears and slid off the bed. When he eased the curtain back he saw Ennis' eyes were closed, their two shirts on his chest, arms folded across them. Jack stepped next to the bed and put his hand over Ennis' thin one, warming it. Ennis opened his eyes and looked into Jack's; they were rimmed with red but there was no surprise in them.

"You got the message?" he whispered.

Jack turned over his lover's hand, bent and kissed his palm. He picked up the shirts and drew them both on, one at a time, Ennis' shirt against his skin, watching him and being watched in turn. He sat on the edge of the bed and swung his legs up, leaning over him, braced on one elbow. Jack cradled Ennis' head in his hands and kissed his lined brow, his gray hair, the dry skin by his eyes, his sunken cheeks and his flaking lips. Ennis drew his arms around him, little strength in the embrace but his eyes never left Jack's.

"Waiting for me?" Ennis whispered.

"Yeah, friend, I'll wait for you," Jack murmured, and shifted down to carefully rest his head on Ennis' chest, listening to his shallow breath and weak heartbeat. Ennis' fingers sifted slowly through his hair, gently stroking. Jack closed his eyes, hating to leave but impatient to as well. Ennis' frail body began to fill out in his embrace, his life force increasing and his arms pressing Jack to his solid chest.


	34. Chapter 33

**Jack at 39**

_**August 15, 1983**_

The sky was lightening rapidly as his truck bumped along the dirt track leading from the lake to the main road. Jack had returned to the present lying across Randall the way he had been with Ennis, and had fought the impulse to recoil. Instead he'd drawn away carefully and slipped out of bed without waking the man, pulled on his clothes and padded out of the cabin carrying his boots. He knew he was a coward as he let his truck roll away from Randall's and down the incline in neutral, only starting the engine when he was well away from the place. But as he drove off, he felt a euphoria he'd experienced only twice before in the last twenty years, when he was heading north. He had only to wait two years, when Ennis would be free of child support payments. Junior would know about and accept them. He would return to Childress, end it with Randall, stop drinking, stay away from Mexico and those other places, put his nose to the grindstone and save money. Come November he would meet Ennis again and shore him up, laying the foundation for the sweet life.

As the track left the woods he saw the plain spread out to the east, the sky meeting the edge of it stained with pink. Suddenly the truck jolted and swerved left. Jack stopped the vehicle and swung down. The left front tire was shredded; he had rolled over a jumble of ragged, twisted metal. Feeling strangely serene about the flat, he looked east and decided to wait until after the sun rose to change the tire because this was a sight he was rarely awake for. He stood with his hands in his pockets, thinking of Ennis and feeling sanguine about the future as he gazed at the horizon. He heard Ennis' footfall behind him. His heart lifted, he heaved a breath and smiled, counting the seconds until his lover slipped his arm around him and rested his chin on his shoulder.

Molten gold flowed across the horizon; the edge of the sun lifted, flashing brilliant white in his eyes. Glistening, crimson joy blazed across the sky and splashed upon the earth.


	35. Chapter 34

**Alternate (Happy) Ending**

**June 21, 1984**

Ennis recognized the place as soon as he reached the top of the slope and looked down. He paced off the distance to the exact spot where he'd seen Jack reclining that afternoon. He set the coffee can down and lowered himself onto the grass. The small round sheep pellets were hard and white and the grass uncropped, so no flock had moved over this pasture since the previous summer.

This was the third station of his pilgrimage; he hadn't decided which one would be Jack's resting place. The coffee can had arrived in a package addressed to him at General Delivery three days after Junior's wedding. The note was held in place by a rubber band stretched around the can and it said simply "Please do what my son asked." He'd shaken it once, heard the sift and rattle, and had known immediately what it contained. She'd poured them directly inside, no plastic bag. He had pulled back the white plastic lid only one time, glancing at the gray powder.

Now he forced himself to think about the words he'd uttered here long ago and tried out alternatives in his mind. It was a pointless exercise, he knew. If he'd been capable of saying anything else then, he would have. It had been overcast that day; this afternoon was clear and bright and the sun made him squint. He rested his arms on his knees and gazed at the empty meadow, trying to will his mind to similar blankness.

Out of the corner of his eye he was suddenly aware of a flash of something white on the ground near him. In the half second between registering it and turning his head to look, he thought of a dove. But he saw two bare feet crossed at the ankles. As naturally as a wave unfurls toward the shore his gaze flowed down the naked limbs and torso and rushed to meet blue eyes. His heart seemed to surge upward and he let out a strangled cry. Jack's eyes widened in alarm and he drew back.

"Ennis! I..I can explain..." he stuttered.

But Ennis didn't wait for his explanation — he lunged at Jack and crashed into him, shoving him back to the ground. "Jack... Jack... Jack..." He pressed his face to Jack's, covered his body with his own, feeling the warmth of him, full of life.

"Know bout you, what you can do. Y'came to me a few times this spring. You were just a baby," he whispered.

Jack gripped Ennis' head and pushed it back to look at him. With his thumbs he stroked the crow's feet at the corners of this eyes. "Ennis, you're... What year's this?"

"Eighty four." Ennis stared down at Jack. He was young and unlined. Jack continued to search his face.

"Why'd you hit me?" he said finally, his voice breaking.

Ennis knew exactly what he meant. He pushed his head so that it slid through Jack's hands and he brought their cheeks together. "I'll tell you someday," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He kissed Jack, and in seconds they were rolling across the slope, limbs entwined. Jack was underneath Ennis when he yelped in pain and lifted a shoulder. He'd landed on the edge of the coffee can and it had skittered away, the lid popping off. Ennis could see fine dust spilling out.

Jack eyed the blue and white lettering and gave a little laugh. "That's Ma's brand. She was just makin a pot to— what is it, Ennis?"

Ennis had gone still and pulled back slightly. He put his hand to Jack's face and tilted it towards him, away from the can. "When're you comin from, Jack?" he whispered urgently.

Jack looked into his eyes, his face serious. "President Kennedy was killed this mornin."

Ennis stared down at Jack's face for a long moment, remembering. Then he gripped Jack's chin and for the first time in his life his words rushed out in a torrent.

"Jack, listen to me. Day after tomorrow I get married. In Riverton. I'm livin in a house on the Pine Bough ranch offa Seventeen Mile Road. Look for a big burnt oak at the turnoff to a gravel road. Place is at the end. Go there tonight before ten, no later. Door's unlocked, just go in. Here's what you gotta say to me and what you gotta do." He lowered his face to Jack's and whispered in his ear what he'd been thinking of on the bed that night, before Alma'd knocked at his door. When he'd finished, Ennis pulled back to see Jack all wide eyes and grinning. Jack pulled Ennis' head down to kiss him but Ennis' nose smacked the ground instead. Jack was gone.

Ennis raised himself up on his elbows and looked at the coffee can lying on its side a few feet away. Suddenly a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. His girls! If he didn't marry Alma, he wouldn't have Junior and Jenny! He scrambled to his feet and like a madman began to whirl in a circle, his hands over his ears, howling to the sky. "NO JACK NOOOO!" He ran at the can and kicked it in a rage. Gray ash flew out, some of the dust swirling away in the breeze. He sank to his knees and doubled over, keening into his hands.

**November 22, 1963**

When his truck's headlights picked out the leafless, charred oak that marked the turnoff to Ennis' house, Jack yanked the wheel to the right, skidding in the gravel. It had taken him all day to get to Riverton in this cunt truck and it was now ten minutes to ten. He pulled up outside the house, noting a feeble glow escaping from a side window, then leaped out and bounded up the wooden steps to the porch. He tried the knob and the door swung inwards. Through the spartan kitchen he could see an open door and beyond it, an unmade double bed. Ennis lay on his back with his jeans open and his fist shuttling slowly up and down his cock. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, his jaw working as though he were repeating one word over and over. Jack quietly toed off his boots while he watched him and then unfastened his belt. He padded forward into the kitchen where he shucked off his jeans and undid the snaps of his shirt carefully, muffling the sound. Moving into the doorway, he took himself in hand and began stroking at the same pace, running his gaze over Ennis' bare chest and thrusting hips. He could hear Ennis now: _Jack...Jack...Jack... Jack..._

Jack advanced slowly toward the bed, breathing deeply through his nose, drinking in the sight. Ennis was lost in his own waking dream and didn't open his eyes as Jack bent down, bringing his face close to his. Jack pressed his mouth onto Ennis'. At the same time he glided his free hand inside Ennis' jeans and cupped his heavy balls.

"Mmmpphh!" Ennis' eyes flew open and he stared wildly into Jack's. His left hand flailed to the side and brushed against Jack's cock and pistoning hand. Jack straightened up, then quickly lifted his right knee onto the mattress, swung his left leg over and straddled Ennis' thighs. He let go of himself and with both hands seized Ennis' face, leaned over and plunged his tongue into his mouth. Ennis moaned so loudly Jack felt the vibrations right down into his chest.

Jack pulled back slightly and breathed, "Yeah it's me, Ennis, ridin to yer rescue."

"I don't need no..." Ennis began but Jack cut him off quick.

"What is this, you havin a stag party all on yer lonesome? Thinkin bout what you'll be missin after you marry that gal?"

Jack pressed his stubbled cheek to Ennis' and rasped slowly across it. He leaned forward, sliding his legs down the sides of Ennis' thighs and lowered his chest onto his. Then he brought his lips next to Ennis' ear and whispered, "You ready to go the rest a yer life without _this?_" and ground his cock into Ennis', smiling when he heard him gasp. Then he swirled his tongue in his ear and continued licking down Ennis' neck and around to the base of his throat, kissing and sucking down his chest to his belly. Ennis' fingers gripped Jack's hair as he writhed and moaned. Jack shoved Ennis' jeans clear of his thighs, leaving them bunched around his ankles, before turning his attention to the thick, curving cock dripping onto Ennis' stomach.

Jack flicked his tongue up and down the shaft and kissed the head. "Oh shit Jack! Up here... I wanna see you!" Ennis gasped out, fisting Jack's hair and tugging him forward. Jack sat up and Ennis let his hands drop to his hips, smoothing them over his flanks while he devoured his body with his eyes. Spotting an open jar of Vaseline on the bedside table, Jack reached over and dipped his fingers into the gel. Then he reached down to grasp Ennis' fingers and dragged them back to his crack, slicking them up as he did so.

"Go on, Ennis," he said low, staring into his eyes. "Yer last chance before you give it all up. You really gonna quit thinkin on me once you start fuckin yer wife?" A tiny sound in the kitchen made him turn his head in that direction. Framed in the front door, a woman's pale, round face reflected the glow from the bedroom lamp. Eyes wide, mouth agape, she stared at the men. Jack suppressed a gasp and looked back at Ennis. He shifted forward an inch and with one hand urged Ennis' fingers toward his hole. With the other he reached for Ennis' hand and brought them together to encircle both their shafts.

Jack waited for a gasp or a scream or the sound of the front door slamming but there was only silence. He turned his head just slightly and shifted his eyes, taking in the woman's face. She was still watching them, transfixed. He returned his gaze to the man under him and began shuttling their joined hands up and down, the clear slick dribbling over their linked fingers.

"C'mon cowboy, let's ride" Jack growled, and shifted forward and up to settle himself above Ennis' cock. Then he slowly inched down as a moan was torn from Ennis' throat. "Who d'ya really want, Ennis?" he demanded loudly as he slowly sank all the way down onto him and then pulled up. "Just try an tell me... that yer gonna forget _this._" Down and up. Ennis' eyes were screwed shut as he whimpered and clutched at Jack's hip with one hand; the other hand was caught in Jack's grip, suspended between their bodies, their fingers interlaced. Down up, down up. The woman hadn't moved – Jack could still sense her face in his peripheral vision. Damn, was she gonna watch till the end? He turned his head and looked directly at her. She didn't seem to notice; her gaze was concentrated on their strike zones. He couldn't imagine her eyes getting any wider or her mouth any slacker. As he picked up the pace, rising and falling steadily, he exaggerated the rocking of his hips for her benefit. She was no longer standing rigidly straight but sagging against the doorframe. He looked back at Ennis, who'd opened his eyes and had started to follow the trajectory of Jack's gaze.

"Don't look away from me!" he commanded. "Tell me you don't want me all the time, Ennis. Say it if you can," Jack hissed. Ennis thrust up in time with Jack's rocking, moaning his name over and over just as he'd been doing alone on the bed, his eyes fixed on Jack's.

Jack sped up the rhythm as he took hold of Ennis' other hand and leaned forward, letting Ennis support his weight. That angle was better and he felt the head of Ennis' cock hit the spot that sent tongues of fire into his own. "Yeah Ennis, yeah Ennis, just like that," he crooned. Ennis was panting now as he bucked his hips, thrusting frantically, his vise-like grip on Jack's hands whitening his knuckles.

"You ever fucked a girl, Ennis? Well it ain't _nothin_ like this." Jack clenched his ass muscles and Ennis' eyes opened wide, his throat emitting high-pitched whines. "You really wanna find out or just take my word for it? Cause if you go... to that church on Sunday... you ain't never gonna see me again… but I can guarantee... you will never _forget _me," he ground out. "Will you? _Will_ you?" The pale moon in the doorway slid into darkness just as just as Ennis arched his neck and shouted his ecstasy and his answer: "Nooooooo!" Jack sank onto him and their moans blended together as he spurted out over both of them. When he heard the sound of an engine starting up he quickly released Ennis' hands so he could cup his own over Ennis' ears. He leaned down and whispered into one of them, "You are _mine_, Ennis Del Mar, an I ain't gonna let you outta my sight!"

**June 21, 1984**

When Ennis opened his eyes he was lying on his side in the grass, curled in a ball. He smelled coffee but he wasn't in the campsite. He stretched his legs and sat up groggily. The sun was lower in the sky but not yet touching the peaks. It was the longest day of the year, the one they'd chosen as their anniversary, which they always spent here. Twenty-one years now since the day Jack had made him laugh. Ennis always came up to this spot, sometimes with Jack. When they were together, they riffed on their old lines.

_"This is a one-shot deal we got goin on here."_

"Yeah? Well I felt that gun a yours go off plenty a times."

"You know I ain't queer."

" Riiiight. You bet. How bout I give you the business right here?"

"Jesus, Jack, I swear!"

This time Ennis had felt like coming alone. But he couldn't remember falling asleep. As he got up, he spotted the blue and white Maxwell House can lying on its side further up the slope, the plastic lid a few feet away. Ground coffee was spilled all around. He frowned; how'd it get up here? He walked uphill and picked up the dented can. There was a little bit of coffee left inside, not enough for a pot, so he carefully scooped up some of the grounds from a little mound in the grass, just enough for the next morning.

He continued up the hill to where Caffeine was tethered. It was awkward to mount while holding the can and it bothered him that he couldn't remember carrying it up there. Well, another funny story to tell Junior and Jenny about their silly uncle. When they got back, KE would be bringing them up to Lightning Flat to stay for two weeks while he and Alma took a vacation. They didn't stay as long now that they were older, which was a pity because he loved having them around.

As he rode back down to the campsite, his thoughts drifted to their other, real anniversary, which they only celebrated with an exchange of looks whenever the JFK assassination was commemorated. He still didn't know exactly how Jack had found out where he was living. The next morning when KE had shown up with Alma's letter and his ring, Ennis' brother had taken his stunned silence for devastation and thrown his arm around his shoulder, telling him it was better this way. Wouldn't want to get married with doubts on one side and then have it all go to hell in six months, take his word for it. Ennis had learned KE's wife had run off when he got down from Brokeback. She'd introduced Alma to Ennis so Alma had felt extra sorry for KE, doting on him in Ennis' absence. He was still amazed how it all had worked out so perfectly. He and Jack lit out for Lightning Flat as soon as KE left, and Jack's old man dropped dead of a heart attack as soon as Jack told him Ennis was staying. KE and Alma got married in the spring of '64 and had two little girls whom Ennis adored and who spent summers on the ranch. Everything had come to his hand the right way in the end, as Jack put it.

He could smell smoke as he got near the campsite, so he knew Jack was back from his own meanderings. Sure enough, Jack was fussing with the fire when he entered the clearing. Ennis was greeted with a beaming smile, which he returned in his usual, lower-wattage manner. He saw Jack noticing the coffee can and watched his eyebrows knit together.

"Whydja bring the coffee up there with ya?" Jack was staring fixedly at it as Ennis dismounted.

"Dunno. Don't even remember carryin it. Fell asleep in the grass and when I woke up, there it was, coffee all spilled out."

Jack moved up next to Ennis just as he was about to unbuckle the cinches to relieve Caffeine of her saddle. He laid his hand on Ennis' arm and pulled him away from his task, turning him gently to face him, drawing him close. Ennis could tell from his serious expression that Jack was recalling something, and he wondered if this coffee had something to do with one of Jack's trips.

Jack leaned in to kiss him, but Ennis got there first. They stood locked in a clinch for a full minute, lips and tongues sliding and sucking, hands stroking over and underneath clothing, groins rubbing, until Jack pulled back with some effort.

"Good, got you all riled up now and ready for your visitor," he whispered, grinning, and nodded toward the tent.

Ennis rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Dammit Twist, don't you ever believe me when I say one's enough?"

"Heh heh heh. You remember when you threw me that little surprise party for my 23rd birthday and I showed up two hours late? Well, guess where I was?"

"How d'you know that's when he's...I mean, when you're comin from?" Ennis kept his voice low as well.

"Cause I remember hearin us talk about the coffee can that time. Anyway, you go on in and see your boyfriend. I'm gonna ride down to the trailhead and fix the flat tire on the truck so we can get away early tomorrow mornin." Jack winked before turning away and swinging up into the still-warm saddle.

At the entrance to the tent, Ennis removed his hat and stooped to enter. There was Jack, stretched out naked on his back on top of their sleeping bags, hands behind his head. He'd had some memorable encounters with a visiting Jack but this was the biggest age difference they'd had between them so far. That he knew of, anyway. Ennis went down on one knee and let his gaze sweep over his body while Jack just grinned at him.

"Happy anniversary. Still lookin good, Cowboy," Jack purred.

"Yeah, you sure are," Ennis breathed, tossing his hat into the corner. He lay down on his side facing Jack, his head propped on his hand.

"I meant you, Ennis." Jack rolled onto his side in turn and smoothed his hand along Ennis' cheek and jaw. "Lookin better than..." He rubbed his thumb along the side of the older man's eye.

"Better 'n who?"

"Better 'n anybody." Jack's fingers were now nimbly unsnapping the buttons on Ennis' shirt. "What are you now, thirty-five?"

Ennis smiled and brushed his fingers along Jack's arm and up his bicep. "Huh. Long past that."

"Damn, this tent's holdin up real well then. We just got it last year." Jack pulled Ennis' shirt out of his jeans and began working at his belt buckle. "And this double air mattress – can't wait for _them_ to come out."

Ennis was exploring with his fingertips a fresh scar on Jack's shoulder. "You'll be glad to know this healed up good. Was some kick that mare gave you."

"Ennis?" Jack had fiddled open the button and was now tugging on the zipper.

"What?"

"Nice a you to worry about my injuries, but yer goin in the wrong direction."

"Oh. This better?"

"Uh huh. Ahh... that's new...yeah... keep doin that."

"Dumbass, you taught me that."

"I did? I will? uuuhh... well... now I know... where... I learned it...!

It took more than thirty minutes to ride to the trailhead, but Jack remembered he'd been in the tent with Ennis a good long while seventeen years before. He lifted his gloved hand to move aside a low hanging branch as he and Caffeine advanced along the trail, and the contact brushed some of the campfire ashes from the leather in a little puff. Without letting go of the reins, he clapped his hands gently to see off the rest and the sound caused the mare to swivel her ears back toward him. He watched the cloud of powder waft away and something stirred in his gut. Not really a memory but more a feeling was pushing up, trying to force its way out. He thought about some of his out-of-time trysts with Ennis and how he'd rarely encountered himself during them. What was the oldest he'd ever seen himself? This afternoon he and his younger self had surprised each other when Jack had ducked into the tent to fetch something, and it dawned on him at this moment that he'd never seen himself older than he was this day. He remembered telling Ennis during this visit about the times he'd been with him when Ennis was old, and joking about the man's desperate passion. A chill began to spread in his chest.

He reined in Caffeine and sat quietly. Hazy images drifted across his mind's eye: Ennis' eyes, sorrow within them and weathered without, the sun high in the sky, his mother's coffee can, dust spilling onto uncropped grass. Through the stand of firs he could make out a glint of red — their Ford pickup. He was nearly there, and it made sense to change the tire now instead of waiting until morning. The mare shifted nervously under him, hooves thudding in the dirt. Jack looked back up the mountain and spotted a plume of smoke curling to the sky, their untended fire smoldering. His hands began to tremble as they rested on the pommel and a powerful need to touch Ennis took hold of him. A black crow landed in the ash tree near him and cawed harshly. He looked again toward the truck, then wheeled around and headed back up the trail at a trot.

Ennis lay back against Jack's chest, the young man's arm draped across his own, listening to him worry a short aspen twig between his teeth. Jack had been astounded to learn that they no longer smoked and he groused about missing his post-sex cigarette.

"Well, it was your idea to quit 'fore we hit forty," Ennis informed him.

"Then I can enjoy my smokes with a good conscience for another sixteen, seventeen years," Jack laughed. "Know I ain't gonna die young." Ennis heard him tap his teeth with the twig. "Tell you what Ennis, yer gonna be real passionate in your old age."

"You know this, huh?"

"Yeah, I came to you a few times when you were a real old guy, fifties, sixties, and you were all over me in half a second. None a this slow lovin. Think maybe yer gonna get tired a my old ass?"

"Nope. Never."

"Was like you were starvin for it. Damn, maybe I won't be able ta get it up in forty years."

Ennis glanced down at Jack's hard body, remembering how sex had infused their waking hours back then, no matter what they were doing. The first few years they'd worked like slaves getting the ranch into shape with no outside help. Ennis hadn't wanted to hire anyone even when they could finally afford it, too afraid of exposing them. A few years later they had no choice. He caressed Jack's forearm and silently mouthed _sorry_. Jack let his hand drift lower, tracing circles on Ennis' stomach.

Ennis shifted around to face Jack then leaned in, bit down on the other end of the twig and tugged. Jack wouldn't let go though, baring his teeth in a grin and clamping down on it. So Ennis closed his lips around it and slid forward to meet Jack's, letting the bark scrape down his tongue. Jack opened up to let Ennis and the wood in, both of them chuckling as the stick twirled and tumbled around and between their tongues and palates. The contrast of hard and soft was oddly arousing to Ennis and he let Jack know it, pushing against him so he could feel for himself. Jack seized the twig in his teeth, turned his head and spat it out before gripping Ennis' head and pulling his mouth to his. Ennis responded by tightening his arms around Jack, deepening the kiss and grinding against him, suddenly desperate to make up to him right then and there for all the agony he would put him through in the coming years, wanting him to know that enduring it would be worth it in the end. Because Ennis knew now he'd be nothing, nowhere without Jack.

_Starving for it._ Ennis' gut lurched as he suddenly understood what that could mean. It had been a long, long time since he'd last lived with that fear. He knew that if Jack died tomorrow he'd see him again someday. But even though it was beyond exciting to be with the Jack of their past, to relive that lightning charge, he knew the hell of living alone day to day, without him.

"Know what, Ennis?" Jack had broken the kiss and was smirking at him. "Yer a real thinker, now. I'm tryin a get some action here with my _old_ man before I gotta get back to the slave driver I live with but we're both gettin distracted by the sound a wheels turnin in yer head."

Ennis couldn't help laughing. When they were young they went at it with a singlemindedness that scrambled all thought. He'd learned to think things through since then, and even talk, sometimes. But this Jack wasn't used to him like that, so he turned his attention back to the sleek limbs and hard muscles beneath him. The taste and feel of tree bark in his mouth had given him the urge to bite something; he moved his face close to Jack's and pinched the skin over his cheekbone between his teeth. Jack flinched and gasped as he bit him firmly, though not hard enough to break the skin. But it would leave a bruise, he realized. He could almost feel his own nose bleeding. He buried his face in Jack's neck and bit down on the thin skin there, then sucked it, feeling the blood pulsing beneath it.

_Why did you hit me?_ Jack had asked him the night he'd found him and held him captive in his own bed. Years later he'd found the words to explain, but not then. As he resumed his journey down Jack's body it became a tour of future wounds suffered and inflicted. He grazed his teeth over his shoulder. Two guys and a woman on a failing ranch had been his youth's nightmare, not the longed for dream family. He pinched a nipple between his incisors, then kissed it. Jack puffed out a breath, arching his back. That waitress... _Was stupid, thought it'd protect us._ He closed his lips on the other one and clamped them, then another kiss. _But I was curious, too._ Blunt fingernails scraped along his shoulders and he heard Jack swear. He moved down to Jack's navel and tweezed the hairs around it as he hissed and whimpered. _I done right by her but sinned against you._ He lipped at the skin, soothing the sting, then swirled his tongue inside and got a faceful of belly when Jack bucked. Took an extra job to pay child support for the kid he only ever saw once, before she married that grocer. _Who adopted him._

"Ennis! Goddamn!" Jack was panting, writhing under his mouth. They hadn't done this in a long time, because now Jack knew Ennis wouldn't dare inflict any real pain. But this was the first time for Jack (the actual first time, it occurred to Ennis), and Ennis knew that the threat of it thrilled the young man. Ennis pushed his legs apart. He took in a mouthful of the pale, tender, hairless skin of his inner thigh and slowly closed his jaws as Jack convulsively raked his fingertips over his scalp. _Had no right to hold that ranch foreman against you, after that._ He released Jack's thigh and hovered over his cock, hearing the quick intake of breath, then traced the tip of his tongue along the thick vein, bringing forth a deep moan. He sat up and pushed at his hip. "Turn over," he whispered, averting his eyes from Jack's. Next had come the living death of exile until the accident brought him back to the ranch. Jack rolled promptly onto his stomach, pulled his knees up and folded his legs under himself.

"Now, Ennis, now!" Jack begged, his voice muffled. Ennis leaned over him and smoothed his hands along his shoulders. He kissed the nape of Jack's neck and continued down his spine, lingering over the lower vertebrae. Moans and curses filled the tent. Jack nearly helpless in a brace for months, hooked on painkillers, while Ennis did the work of two men. Ennis rested his forehead on Jack's trembling back and smelled smoke that had seeped into the tent from the dying fire, suddenly wishing that _his_ Jack was under him now, the one who'd come through the shit storm Ennis had unleashed. He had to let Jack know that they would be alright in the end. KE would soften, let the girls into their lives; Alma, of all people, working that miracle. He couldn't tell him all this, so he had to show him.

When Jack reached the campsite, smoke was billowing from the stone circle and he could hear a voice coming from the tent. He dismounted and went instantly hard as he listened to his young self's moans of pleasure. It all came back to him, the thrilling sensation of Ennis' teeth nipping and scraping the most sensitive places on his body – all but one. The strong hands running confidently over his skin, full of knowledge. Ennis had turned him on like never before or since; for that one time, fear of pain had been a game. He stood in the clearing and looked at the tent, hesitating. They had been only two in there, he should stay outside. But Ennis had said something to him just before he disappeared, and he wanted to hear it again, because it was the one thing that had kept him alive through the black time.

Ennis' voice had joined his now, and he heard the slap of skin on skin. Off came his boots and his clothes, and then he moved toward the tent. He watched Ennis' back and thrusting hips and for a few seconds the memory was so vivid that he thought he could actually feel Ennis pounding into him, fingers digging into his flanks, his knees sliding on the sleeping bag. Jack stepped closer, quietly, and sank to his knees, positioning them carefully between Ennis' legs. He leaned into him, fitting his cock into Ennis' cleft and moving with his body. A tiny stutter in the rhythm of the thrusts was the only sign that Ennis was aware of him. When he wrapped his arms around his chest, Ennis sighed and tipped his head back, eyes closed, mouth slack. Jack peered over his shoulder and the sight of Ennis' cock sliding in and out of his own ass was..._Jesus!_ He was near to coming just from that. His moans were drowned out by the louder ones of his younger self, who was getting close. Ennis lifted a hand and held it to the side of Jack's head in order to press their cheeks together but he had yet to speak. Jack brushed his lips across Ennis' ear.

"You love me?" he whispered. Ennis let out a small sob and nodded his head. "Then say the words so _he_ can hear."

Ennis was panting now. Jack hugged him tighter. "I'll _need_ it."

"I love you," Ennis gasped out. "I _loved_ you."

"For how long?"

"Always!"

With a shout young Jack came, then Ennis shuddered as Jack squeezed him in his arms, gasping and moaning into his neck, flooding his back with wetness. Ennis suddenly toppled forward and he fell with him – young Jack had vanished.

When their thudding hearts finally calmed and their breathing slowed, they shifted around, moving off the wet patch and into each other's arms. Before he drifted off to sleep, Jack wondered if he'd changed the past or the future. Or both.


End file.
